Playing with Fiendfyre
by Aebbe
Summary: The flames of love blaze bright, but if you touch them, they can burn. Teddy and Victoire know all about burns; whatever they have between them is white hot. But is it love, or something far more destructive? Now rated M but nothing too explicit
1. Prologue: Tastes of Innocence?

"Go away."

"No."

"Go away."

"No."

"Go away."

"Why?"

There was a sudden pause, as the boy stared in frustration at the impossible little girl standing in front of him, long red hair tumbling into her eyes and her lower lip pouting.

"Because you're too little. Why do you always have to tag along?"

"I'm not tagging."

"Yes you are. We don't want you here, and you're following us. So you're tagging."

"I know you're going to sneak food out of the kitchen."

"So…?"

"If you don't let me come, I'll _scream_. An' then you'll be caught."

"So will you."

"I don't care."

"Fine. Scream. See if I care."

"I hate you."

"Good. Why are you following me then?"

"I want to _come_."

"Why do you have to be so _annoying, _Victoire?"

"Why do you have to be so horrible, Teddy?"

* * *

"Hi, Teddy!"

He bit back a groan.

What a nightmare. Why couldn't they have sent her to Beauxbatons, like her mum? She was going to ruin anything. Guy and Persis already thought it was the funniest thing ever, and called her Teddy's Little Lamb. Now _everybody_ was going to laugh at it.

He was a _Third Year_. He couldn't have a stupid little red-headed twit of a First Year following him round. Persis thought she was quite sweet, the way her starry blue eyes blinked out from under her red fringe. Teddy couldn't see it. She was just the Limpet. The Pest. The Bouncing Ball, because no matter how far you threw her away, she bounced back twice as hard.

And now she was going to Hogwarts with him.

His life was over.

* * *

"Vic, you have to come out some time."

"No."

"Don't be stupid, Vic."

"Go away, Tamsyn."

"We're not leaving you in there like that, Victoire. You have to…"

"I don't have to anything."

"Vic, you can't let it get to you. It's not the end of the world. It's not like…"

"He _kissed_ her."

"Well, they are sort of going out…"

"In front of _everyone_. They did it on purpose, just to spite me."

"Now you really _are_ being stupid, Vic. Why would they do that?"

"He knew it would upset me. He always tries to upset me. I hate him."

"Yes. Exactly. You hate him. That's the right way to think. So it doesn't matter, does it, and you can come out?"

"Why… why does he have to be like that?"

"Vic, honestly, he isn't being like anything. It's not like anything's actually ever going to happen between you two. He doesn't fancy you. You know that. I mean, he's in Fifth Year, and you're only in Third. You can't stop him going out with other people. You have to get over him. You've had a crush on him so long… Maybe you should try going out with other people for a bit. Loads of boys fancy you, Vic. You could have any of the boys in our year. Maybe it's time to move on… stop obsessing over something you can't have…"

"Oh, go away! You don't know _anything_!"

* * *

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that it was him. That the dry, slightly hesitant lips pressing onto hers were his. That the soft hair tickling her forehead was not dark but one of the bright colours he favoured. That the hands, lightly holding her hips, were his hands.

But she'd have to hold her breath too, because he didn't smell right. He smelt of broomstick oil, and the open air and the wind, because he'd been playing Quidditch; with a faint whiff of cigarette smoke, and an unfamiliar shampoo.

Teddy sometimes smelt of Quidditch too, but more usually of earth and whatever creature he had been helping Hagrid with, and wood smoke not cigarettes. And she knew his shampoo as well as she knew her own.

He pressed her back against the wall, his kiss increasingly urgent, and she did her best to return it. He was the handsome Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, after all, and she was a lowly Fourth Year. She was well aware that she was the focus of the envy of most of the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Year girls, as well as her own year. So she ought to make the most of it.

But the one person she wanted to be looking; the single person she wished was jealous, never batted an eyelid. All he did was grin teasingly at her, in a big-brotherly way, and the knife twisted just that little bit deeper.

* * *

"What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, whatever. Vic, you've spent the last fifteen years or so following me around, and now suddenly you're not talking to me. What's going on? What have I done?"

"Why do you even care? _You've_ spent the last fifteen years trying to get rid of me. Well, congratulations. You've managed it. Why don't you go and have a party with darling _Kathryn_?"

"Is that what this is about? It's about Kathy…?"

"No! Why would I care about her?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Oh come on, Teddy. Everyone knows what happened last night…"

"I don't know what you mean…"

"Oh, don't bother, Teddy. You're a hopeless liar. And _Kathy _told all her friends. Everyone knows now. You screwed her last night, up against the wall in the Owlery. Nice one, Lupin. Classy. Was it your first time? Bet that was one to remember. Good thing it wasn't her first time, she might have been a bit disappointed with the setting…"

"Shut up, Victoire. You don't have a clue what you're talking about. Or maybe you do. All that disgusting fumbling around you and Venables do all over the dinner table every night. Has he had you yet? I bet he has, hasn't he? Or was it Larson last year? Got a thing for Quidditch players, haven't you? What is it about girls, and men with broomsticks between their legs…? Ow! Fucking hell, Vic, that fucking hurt!"

"Just shut up, Teddy Lupin. Just shut the fuck up! You're a fucking hypocrite, talking about me and Venables after the story Kathryn told about last night. And you don't know shit about me. Just shut up and leave me alone. I've had it with you. I never want to look at you again. So just fuck off and die, Lupin."

* * *

She watched him walk away, her last words ringing in her ears and her heart pounding. And through the mist of anger and hurt and denial, certain phrases filtered into her brain, and the hope; that ridiculous, mocking little piece of hope that had prevented her ever moving on; sparked into life again. She had almost put it out. Almost, after years of him pouring water on the flames; years of her trying to deny that cruel fire that burned inside her. She – with a little help from Kathryn Dimont – had almost succeeded in putting it out forever.

But that flame of hope seemed to be made of Fiendfyre. And as some of his words sank into her brain, the little spark glowed bright again, despite her rage.

_All that disgusting fumbling… all over the dinner table… every night._

He had noticed. He had looked. And he hadn't liked it.

* * *

He could pinpoint the first time he looked at her and noticed that she was beautiful. It was half way through his Seventh Year, not long after the fight. He had been with Hagrid, helping him with the thestrals (a difficult task, as Teddy could not see thestrals) and he was coming up to the castle, heading for the showers to get rid of the smells of animal and sweat. And she came up from the direction of the greenhouses – she had probably had Herbology – with a group of friends. She saw him, he was sure of it, but she was giving him the silent treatment very thoroughly, and didn't miss a beat in her conversation with her friends; her head went back and she laughed merrily at something Tamsyn Golightly had said, red hair rippling silkily over her shoulders, and the late afternoon sun catching the side of her face.

It wasn't a particularly significant moment. It wasn't some sort of epiphany. It was just that – although his brain had always known that she was pretty – he had never really noticed it before. But as she turned away from him, he saw, with a sort of astonishment, what other people had been talking about when they called Victoire Weasley beautiful.

She had never ignored him before. It had always been the other way around. Since she had been able to walk, she had followed him around, gazing at him with those adoring eyes, and he had done his best to shut her out. But now her eyes passed indifferently over him, with a flicker of something like scorn.

And he was dismayed to find that it bothered him a little bit.

* * *

"Vic, I'm glad you've moved on, but I'm not sure ignoring his existence is the best approach. What's he actually done to you, after all?"

"I'm sick of him, Tamsyn. Sick of him always putting me down and treating me like some little kid."

"Right. So instead of convincing him you're actually an adult by acting like one, you cut him dead in the corridor?"

"You didn't hear what he said to me."

"Was it worse than what you said to him?"

"That isn't the point."

"So, you hate him now? Because he had sex with Kathryn Dimont, which really shouldn't be any of your business, seeing as you're going out with Matthew Venables? Going to be a bit awkward when you go home, isn't it? Given that you spend half the holidays with him…"

"Leave it, Tamsy."

"But he hasn't actually done anything wrong…"

"I said, leave it."

* * *

"Fuck this, Victoire. You're acting like a child!"

"Oh, because you're being really mature, shouting at me in front of the whole Common Room!"

"Oh Merlin, this is ridiculous! We can't carry on like this when we go home for Easter. Will you at least tell me what you think I've done?"

"You know exactly what you've done."

"NO, I DON'T! As far as I can remember, all you've accused me of is having sex with my girlfriend!"

"Just forget it, Teddy."

"No, I _won't_ forget it! What is this? We used to be…"

"What? What did we used to be, Teddy?"

"Well… we used to be… friends…"

"NO, WE DIDN'T, TEDDY. Friends aren't like that! Friends don't have to trail round after each other like some pathetic _puppy,_ hoping for some little scrap of attention! Friends don't spend all their time trying to get rid of each other! I don't know what we were, Teddy, but it wasn't friends. I don't even know what you want from me! You want to go back to how we were? Because I never got the impression you enjoyed it much. What do you _want_, Teddy? Because I'm fucking sick of… Oh!"

* * *

He closed her lips with his own. And their first kiss tasted of anger and confusion and frustration

For a few brief moments, they melded together in a white hot, furious embrace, nerves on fire, bodies burning, all the things they wanted to scream at each other; the insults, the sarcasm, the biting remarks; all poured into that kiss.

Then he pulled back, breathless and dazed, and looked down at her, her hair falling in her face as usual, her cheeks flushed and her breathing erratic.

And her hand swung round and hit his cheek. Hard.

So he grabbed her hands, pulled her close and kissed her again.


	2. Fairytale Ending

**Disclaimer: Sorry, forgot for the last chapter - this one's for both. I own none of JK Rowling's characters, or her world.**

**A/N: Please note: Rating has changed! There's nothing very explicit, but I thought I'd be safe. And I only got one review for the last chapter, I'd quite like a few more please!  
**

_Three years later…_

He clenched his fists so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palms, and those small shoots of pain gave his anger a channel and stopped him from doing all the things he wanted to do. Slap her, shake her, throw her across the room. Rip that stupid little dress off and fuck her until the only thing she could remember was his name.

No. Not the last one. _Control, Teddy_.

She was standing in front of him, cheeks flushed, eyes angry, breathing heavy. Waiting for him to answer. Waiting for him to start shouting again, so that she could shout back. Waiting for the outpouring of cruel words; the vitriol that came spilling out and left him with a foul taste in his mouth. The words that slashed and hurt and burned.

"_Why?" she had demanded, "Why can't you ever just be happy for me? Why does this always have to be about you? This is nothing to do with you, Teddy. You have nothing to do with the decisions I make in my life. _

"_What is it, are you jealous? That's it, isn't it? You're jealous, because I'm getting on and living my life, and because my life is a _success_, and I am _happy_! Whereas yours is going nowhere; you're just stuck, like some pathetic loser, just like you'll always be…"_

_And the words had been so unfair that they'd taken his breath away, and he had snarled back, even though he hadn't meant to. Hadn't meant to get into this terrible, agonising cycle again._

"_Oh, yeah, success. Success, Victoire Weasley style. Getting ahead and making money; never mind your family. Never mind your friends. _You're_ okay, so what do the rest of us poor pathetic losers matter? How many people did you have to suck off to wangle this one, Victoire…?"_

That was as far as he had got.

He could still feel the sting of the blow she had – yet again – landed on his face. He had lost track of the number of times she had hit him, over the years. She had a strong right arm, and she didn't hold back. His face _hurt_.

But he couldn't hit her back. Because she was Victoire. She was still the little girl who had tagged along after him, with those reproachful blue eyes. She was still the teenage girl who had always been the strongest, most stubborn person he had ever known, but who had suddenly become something vulnerable when he had found her sitting on a staircase, sobbing her heart out.

Sobbing her heart out for _him._

_

* * *

_

_It had been a week before the Easter holidays. A week _after_ the day he had kissed her outside the Portrait Hole. _

_The second kiss had been a mistake. Well, the first one hadn't been the cleverest idea either, but the second one… all he could think of was that he had gone temporarily insane. What sort of person kisses somebody, and then, when they hit him for it, grabs them and physically forces them to do it again? _

_He had tried not to answer that question for himself._

_The second kiss had lasted only a few shocked seconds before she had realised what was happening, wrenched herself away, and hit him again, a resounding slap in the silence. And that had been the moment when they had discovered that Kathy Dimont had followed him out of the Common Room and had seen the last few seconds of the incident._

_She hadn't been impressed. Teddy had found himself without a girlfriend after that and, unfairly, part of his mind blamed Victoire._

_Who had gone on as normal. As if nothing had happened. Because, after all, she was Victoire Weasley. The girl who had been out with two successive Quidditch Captains. The beautiful, hot-tempered, determined, clever, stubborn, _strong_ Victoire Weasley._

_The only thing that was not normal was that she had seemed to have stopped following Teddy around for good. _

_All those years, while she had been the Gryffindor Ice Queen to everybody else, to Teddy Lupin she had been little Victoire; the toddler who had broken his toys; the child who had spoiled his games; the first year Shadow who had embarrassed him in front of his friends. She had had a special smile for Teddy._

_But now she had looked at him with the same distant expression she kept for… well, for people she didn't like very much. And Teddy had thought he'd lost his Shadow for good, and the knowledge had hurt far more than he had wanted to admit._

_Until the day he had found her crying on the stairs, and the weeks of coldness had faded away, and she was just little Vic again, and, without thinking, only knowing that something bad must have happened, he had sat down on the step beside her._

"_Vic?" he had said, in concern, completely forgetting that they were not speaking, "Are you okay?"_

_She had looked up at him, and the raw emotion in her eyes had made him flinch back._

"_Oh, yes," she had snarled, "Yes, I'm just fine, Teddy. Ab…ab…solutely… fucking fine…"_

"_Merlin, Vic, what's happened?" there had been a note of panic in his voice. He knew how to deal with Stubborn Shadow Victoire, and with Angry Victoire (at least, he pretended to himself that he did) but Crying Victoire seemed out of his league. But something stopped him being able to simply walk away. _

_He had never been able to walk away from Victoire; she had a tendency to follow him._

"_Why the _fuck_ should I tell you, Lupin?" her voice had come out sounding cold and harsh, and he had flinched at the use of his surname._

"_Why are you being like this with me, Vic?" he had asked quietly._

"Why_?" she had looked incredulously at him through her tears, "_Why _am I being like this? Well, let's just recap, shall we? Remember last week, when you _assaulted_ me outside the Portrait Hole…?"_

"_You weren't speaking to me for weeks before that!" he had burst out, choosing to ignore the words she had used (had he really _assaulted _her?), "What's going on, Victoire? Why can't you just tell me? And why are you crying? Is it something to do with Venables?"_

"_Oh, God," she buried her face in her knees, "Oh, God, Teddy, don't you get it?" she looked up, and the tears were streaming down her face again, "It's not Venables. It's never been fucking Venables. It's you, Teddy. You. I know it's stupid and twisted and hopeless. But you're the _only_ one…You can't say you never knew! I'm pathetic. Tell me I'm pathetic. Tell me I'm a stupid, obsessed little girl. I know it's what you'll be thinking. But I can't help it. _

_"It's _you_, Teddy. And it always has been."_

"_I…" he had stared at her, open-mouthed, "I… you… this is about _me_?"_

"_Got it, have you? I can't believe you never knew. Merlin, boys are so fucking blind! Oh, just go away, Teddy. You messed with my head enough with what you did last week. I don't need more of your mind games. You can't help me, so just go away."_

_He could have done as she said. He could have got up and walked away. Because that would have been the easy thing to do. Ignore it. Forget it. Don't even go there._

_But you're a Gryffindor, his treacherous mind told him. What happened to Gryffindor courage? So he stayed where he was and screwed that courage up._

"_No." _

"_No… what?"_

"_No, I'm not going to go away. _This_ isn't going to go away, is it? And whatever crazy thing made me kiss you last week… that isn't going to go away either, Victoire."_

_And with that, he was in over his head._

_

* * *

_

But he couldn't hit her. He had never been able to hit her, no matter how many times she hurt him. And he didn't want to start shouting again; his voice hurt, and his head hurt and his cheek hurt, and he couldn't stand it any more. So he did the next best thing and kissed her.

She kissed him back, her muscles tense, her body hard and her lips harsh and demanding. She hadn't forgiven him, but as long as they were doing this, they couldn't be talking. Or shouting. And he wanted her. He always wanted her.

He was vaguely aware that his hair had changed colour, the way it always did when he was turned on. It had been very embarrassing as a teenager (although very few people had worked out what it meant), but he had it under control these days.

Except when it came to Victoire. Then there was no control. And her nails digging into the back of his neck and her teeth biting his lips hard enough to draw blood only scattered that last bit of control he had. So they poured all their frustration and fury into a kiss, just as they always did. A blazing, urgent, ugly, hurtful kiss; the kind they were best at.

Then he ripped the stupid dress off and proceeded to fulfil the last and most stupid of his desires.

And the words finally came flooding out; the angry, hurtful words; only they had both lost the ability to think of proper arguments (had they ever had that ability?) and all that came out were viciously gasped insults and declarations of hate. And then, finally, there was not even that, only each other's names spat out until they came together in an everlasting moment of white hot fire.

* * *

Her fingers were in his hair; not fierce and painful any more, but languid and… possessive.

"I always know when you're about to finish," she said lazily, as though she reveled in the slight power this gave her, "Your hair changes colour."

He lifted his head and looked at her incredulously. Then he laughed, long and hard. Because it was at moments like this, when she said this like that, that he remembered why he was with Victoire Weasley.

"How come you never told me that before?" he asked eventually, when he had stopped laughing.

"You didn't know?" she smiled delightedly.

He shook his head.

"I'm not usually looking in a mirror. What colour do I go?"

He lifted a chunk away from his head and squinted at it, but it seemed to be its default dark turquoise.

She shook her head, smirking at him.

"It's changed back now. But it varies. Today it was orange. And then there's your eyes. They're not always such a give away, because they're quite often closed, but today they went a sort of electric blue. That seems to be your 'angry' colour."

There was silence for a moment, then:

"Are we still angry?" he mumbled.

He realised as he said it that it was a bad time to remind her, what with the position they were in. She frowned, and her fingers tightened in his hair. He winced.

"Well, that depends," she replied coldly, "D'you fancy apologising for suggesting that I need to give away sexual favours in order to get promoted?"

He wanted to ask her whether she intended to apologise for calling him a pathetic loser, but decided that he was in the weaker position at the moment. Also, if he was honest with himself, he knew that what he had said was worse than what she had.

So he apologised. He did it quite nicely, he thought, considering that her fingers were still twisted painfully around his hair. But that wasn't really the point.

They always apologised. Well, they usually did, in the end. But it didn't take away the words that had been spoken. It didn't wipe away the memories. And it didn't stop it happening all over again next time. So apologies meant nothing, really, and they both knew it.

But she released his hair, and rolled away from him with a sigh.

"I'm going out tonight."

"Oh," he tried to sound nonchalant, "Who with?"

"Merlin, Teddy, why do you have to know every minute detail of my life?" she snapped, standing up, and grabbing a towel, "I'm going for a shower."

"What? Oh, for goodness' sake, Vic, I didn't mean… Victoire, I was just… taking an interest," he finished quietly to the closed door, "Fuck."

* * *

He was such a bastard, she thought, her hands shaking slightly as she re-stoked the anger that had begun to die. Nobody but Teddy could say disgusting, cruel things like that to her.

And nobody but Teddy could possibly get to her like that, whatever they said.

If only he wasn't so bloody attractive, she thought sourly, as she stepped into the shower. If only he wasn't so tall, with sturdy shoulders and muscles toned by the physical work he loved. If only he didn't have that quirky smile and the eyes that were so deep you could get lost in them, whatever colour they happened to be. If only he didn't have that stupidly sexy ability to change his hair colour and style (and that even sexier tendency to change it by accident on occasions). If only he wasn't always able to make her laugh, and cry, and lose it, like nobody else could.

If only he wasn't Teddy Lupin.

She had vivid red finger-marks and the beginnings of bruises on her upper arms and hips, she realised with a sigh. She would have to wear something with sleeves tonight. But then, she thought with a slow smile, he had eight long, deep scratches down his back, and a rather obvious bite mark on his collar bone, which should be interesting next time he wanted to strip off his shirt at work.

_Work_. Her lip curled slightly. For Teddy, there was 'work' and 'work.' There were the jobs he loved, when he was out there somewhere getting filthy and sweaty out of doors. Then there was the sort of job he actually got paid for, which he didn't seem particularly interested in. He could have done anything, with the NEWTs he had, but he didn't. Instead, he got stupid temporary jobs in bars so that he could carry on going and 'helping out' with the things he enjoyed, and he never held down the same one for more than six months.

No wonder he was resentful that she was getting ahead. They more or less lived on what she was bringing in.

He talked about teaching; it was the only sensible career he seemed remotely interested in. But he insisted that he would never teach at Hogwarts until all the kids he saw as small siblings and cousins had left. Victoire could understand that, to be honest. At least, she could understand why he would want to wait until Jamie, Louis and Rose had left. They would make his life hell. But that wouldn't be for a few years yet. And even longer if he really planned on waiting until _all_ her cousins had finished. Lily and Hugo had only started this year, and Lucy was two years behind them.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions when he was being kind and patient, she thought he would make quite a good teacher. But then she imagined the Teddy she had seen - messed up, angry and not even remotely in control of himself - in charge of a class of teenagers, and she wanted to laugh hysterically.

* * *

There had been a time when it had almost been perfect. That first summer, at the end of her fifth year, when Teddy had come to Shell Cottage with the Potters. The stolen moments, always bathed in sunlight in her memories. The illicit thrill of hiding it from everyone had only added to the pleasure. The slight touch of his hand under the table. The quick, secret kisses when nobody was looking. The times they escaped for a while and went for long wanders along the cliff tops, wind in their hair, and gulls wheeling overhead.

The tense days at school, when neither of them had quite known what to say to the other for fear of sparking another explosion, and Kathy Dimont and Matt Venables had always been in the background, had been behind them. What people were saying about them no longer mattered. And Victoire had looked at Teddy and felt the old swelling in her heart that she had felt before he started going out with Kathy, only instead of being accompanied by an ache of disappointment, it was a bubble of pure happiness. And she had honestly thought that this was the beginning of something beautiful; all her dreams and fairytale endings coming true.

At one point, she had said to him: "You're not going to be at Hogwarts next year,"

"No," he had agreed, smiling that crooked smile that made her insides melt, "I think that's probably a good thing, don't you?"

She had drawn a breath, the hurt evident in her eyes.

"After all," he had continued, "James and Louis are starting next year. You know what those two are like. Fred might not have noticed, but I would give Jamie and Louis about a week before they figured it out."

And Victoire, thinking about Louis, who was her little brother, and Jamie, who was both her cousin and practically Teddy's little brother, had had to agree. They had not needed to discuss the option of telling the family. They knew, without talking about it, that they were not ready for that yet.

She should have known. That should have told her something; that they had to keep it a secret, as though it was something dirty and shameful. The fact that they were 'together,' for the whole of her sixth year, and the summer at the end of it, without ever making it official enough to tell anyone except Dominique.

And then, of course, had come the ridiculous incident at the beginning of her Seventh Year, which had made all their secrecy rather redundant.

"I'm coming to see you off," he had said cheerfully.

"Don't be stupid," she had replied, wide-eyed, "Half the family'll be there."

"I don't care," he had said, "We'll be discreet. I'll hide from them. Your parents'll just drop you and go; none of you are first years. And they'll all be too busy talking to each other anyway. You can easily sneak away. They'll never notice me in the crowd, and if they do, I'll pretend I came to see Al and Rosie off, for their first time. Al's practically my little brother anyway; he'd be dead excited if I came to see him."

At first, she had thought it might actually be as simple and easy as that, and a small part of her had been almost disappointed, she realised now. Had she really been hoping that somebody would see them? Had there been some part of her that wanted an end to the deception; that wanted a real relationship; official and above board? Yes, there had. In those days, she was still an innocent girl with romantic dreams of a perfect life.

As Teddy had said, her parents had simply dropped them at the station and left. Bill and Fleur Weasley had always encouraged independence in their children, and anyway, Victoire and Dominique were now in their seventh and fifth years respectively, and did not need to be 'seen off.' Louis might be only a second year, but he certainly did not appreciate cosseting; he had always been able to look after himself. And the other two had disappeared as soon as they got onto the platform, in search of their own friends. Victoire had located Teddy, who had been hovering casually at the back of the crowd, well away from the place where the rest of the Potter/Weasley clan were congregating, his hair for once toned down from its bright colours in an attempt to blend in. And her heart had thudded in her chest, and she had wondered if she might call Teddy her proper boyfriend now.

"I'm going to miss you," he had murmured, leaning his forehead against hers, and she had smiled slightly; they had hardly spent much time together, even over the summer, but it was a nice thing to say.

"Me too," she had whispered.

"I might come and visit you. Let me know when the first Hogsmeade Weekend is."

"Teddy! You can't! What if someone saw you?"

"I am allowed to be in Hogsmeade, you know," he had sounded amused.

"I know. But…"

He had cut off her words with his mouth, pressing his lips to hers. She had responded eagerly, drinking him in, wishing that this could last forever…

"OI!" A small and all-too-familiar voice had broken in on them. Teddy had groaned against her mouth, and pulled away.

Victoire had turned round, a feeling of panic creeping in on her, to face the small brown-haired boy, who had been staring at them with a mixture of astonishment, incredulity and indignation. Victoire had felt her lips twitch in amusement, despite everything, at his expression.

"Do me a favour, yeah, Jamie?" Teddy had said with resignation, "Piss off."

"But… but what are you doing?" the small boy had demanded, confusion in his voice.

Victoire had rolled her eyes.

"What does it look like we're doing, Jamie? Even you aren't that thick."

"But I didn't even know Teddy was here. How come you're here, Ted? And how come you never came to say hello?" his voice had risen in indignation.

"I just… came to see Victoire off," Teddy had said calmly, "I'm going to come and see you lot in a minute. But James…" he had glanced at Victoire, then back at the Second Year, "Er… could you maybe keep this to yourself? No need to mention it to anyone, right?"

James Potter had given them one last, incredulous stare, and disappeared into the crowd. Teddy had looked down at their entwined fingers, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I'd better go and see them."

"What are you going to tell them?" she had said worriedly.

"That I came to see Al and Rosie off. No need to mention you. And I'll grab Jamie and offer him some sort of bribe to keep his mouth shut."

She had giggled slightly, swallowing that tiny sliver of disappointment that he was still going to lie.

"Trust Jamie to catch us. You know how you said you'd have given it a week if we'd both still been at school…"

"Maybe twenty four hours," he had said with a chuckle, and kissed her again, "Now I really should go, before I'm too late to catch James."

Only he had been too late, because James couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his life, and he had gone straight back and blurted it out to his whole family. The adults had all been wearing knowing grins when Teddy had turned up and innocently fed them the story he had prepared, and Lily had demanded to know whether he and Victoire were getting married.

After that, the cat had been well and truly out of the bag. James and Louis had not passed up a chance to tease her all year, despite the fact that she was Head Girl, and the story had spread round the whole family. Everybody had seemed to assume that they were properly going out, instead of that they had just shared a few kisses. They had never even been on a date. At Christmas, she had found herself being interrogated by both of her parents, and Dominique, obviously feeling that discretion was now redundant, had exclaimed:

"But it's not like he's her first boyfriend!"

That hadn't exactly helped matters.

She suspected that Teddy might have undergone a similar interrogation from Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny (who doubtless then shared notes with her parents), and he had reacted badly to the pressure. He had backed off from the relationship (not that it had ever been particularly full-on) and Victoire had found herself desperately trying to hold on to him and not to let him drift away. He hadn't liked that either, and that was when the arguments had started.

But although there had been arguments, there had been good times too, and although the arguments had been vicious and left a bitter taste in her mouth, they hadn't been the agonising, hate-filled things they were now; they had just been the outpourings of two frustrated teenagers.

And the good times had made up for them. Teddy had kept his promise and come to meet her on the first Hogsmeade Weekend, and things had been better than they ever had been. For the first time, she had felt like his equal, not like some little girl. They had laughed and talked and lost themselves in each other's company.

Later, talking to Tamsyn, she had worried that it had been too good to be true; that she was reading too much into it. Tamsyn had laughed.

"Reading too much into it? You've got him whipped, Vic."

"You think so?" Victoire had asked anxiously.

Tamsyn had raised her eyebrows.

"Erm… yeah… you didn't even notice?"

"Notice what?" Victoire's voice had held a note of panic.

Tamsyn had grinned broadly.

"I can't believe you Vic. I know you say you're so used to his hair being different colours that you don't even notice what colour it is any more… but still…"

"What? What are you talking about? His hair was just turquoise this afternoon, wasn't it?"

"It might have been at the beginning And maybe by the time you said goodbye, it was back to normal. But when I saw you in the Hog's Head…" she leaned in, smirking, as though about to tell Victoire a fascinating secret, "it was… sort of red. And I don't mean that Gryffindor red he used to use in his fifth year. I mean Weasley red. It was exactly the same colour as yours…"

That had been a beautiful moment.

His letters had taken on a new tone. Before, during her sixth year, they had been flippant and chatty and funny; the sort of letters you'd write to any close friend. But that autumn term, they had become deeper. They were – and who'd have thought it of down-to-earth Teddy Lupin? – love letters. And sometimes, there was the odd sentence in them that made her face catch fire and her breath catch, and she had wondered what it would be like to do the things he… _hinted_ that he'd like to do with her.

She had kept them all, tucked at the back of her drawer.

She still had them, actually. Stupid and sentimental of her. Perhaps there was still something of the old Victoire in her after all. Some little remainder of the teenage girl who had dared to dream of perfect romance.

She would get rid of them some time.

She turned the shower off and emerged into the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping herself in the towel. She wiped the mirror clear, and stared at the familiar face in it. It still looked like the old Victoire, except that the hair was much shorter and the eyes older. She had cut her hair a few weeks ago because Teddy had said he liked it long, and then they had an argument, and it had seemed like a good way to hurt him.

She had overreacted. She had overreacted then, and she had overreacted now. It hadn't been unreasonable for him to ask who she was going out with. And really… she quite liked the idea that he might be a little jealous of whoever she was spending the evening with. It was quite sweet really. She was still angry with him, but perhaps he deserved a little forgiveness. Just a little. She opened the bathroom door, intending, not to make up with him exactly, but to tell him that she was only meeting Tamsyn for a few drinks.

He had gone.


	3. Spirals

**Disclaimer: I do not own JK Rowling's characters or world**

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"You had another fight, didn't you?"

Victoire sighed.

"Of course. When have we _not _had another fight?"

Tamsyn Golightly looked at her friend in concern.

"Vic… he doesn't… _hurt_ you, does he? I mean… physically…?"

Victoire looked at the fair-haired girl sitting opposite her, and raised her eyebrows, thinking of the bruises hidden beneath her dress.

"Bloody hell, Tamsyn, of course he doesn't! What sort of person do you think he is?"

Tamsyn looked slightly relieved, and went a little pink.

"Sorry. It's just… well, I've heard you two arguing. You get so angry. And when you were at school…"

"When we were at school, Teddy stupidly kissed me without permission, because he was a teenage boy carried away by hormones, and Kathryn Dimont saw it happen, and blew the story out of all proportion, because she was hurt. Anybody'd think he practically raped me!"

"Well, according to Kathryn's story…"

"Tamsyn, Kathryn had just seen her boyfriend kissing another girl. I suppose I should be glad she decided that she was more angry with Teddy than with me; she could have made it sound like _I _jumped _him_, and that I was some sort of slut. Instead, she made him out to be a bastard. You really can't rely too much on her story; that wasn't how it happened, and I told you that at the time. It was a silly, trivial incident. And it was years ago."

Tamsyn looked hard at her friend.

"Okay… If you say so. But… you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Merlin, Tamsyn! How many times do I have to say it? Teddy's never hit me in his life, even when we were kids. I've known him all my life. He's practically part of the family. He's not the sort of person who hits people. Least of all me. If anything, you could say _I_ abuse _him_. I'm always losing my temper and slapping him."

Tamsyn smiled slightly.

"Yes, I know. You should really stop that, Vic."

"Maybe I should. D'you want another drink?"

"Not just now. Victoire, what's going on with you and Teddy?"

Victoire, who had half risen to go to the bar, sank back into her seat with a defeated sigh.

"You know, Tamsy, I'm not even sure any more. I don't know what it is. He's changed… and I've changed. I don't know what happened to us. It's like… we had something special, for a while. And I didn't even notice it happening, but somewhere along the line, we lost it."

Tamsyn looked worriedly across the table.

"Don't you ever think… that maybe it's time you just called it quits and got out? I mean, if you've lost everything you had…"

"Probably," Vic laughed harshly, "Long past time, probably. But that's the thing. I can't. I never have been able to, with Teddy, have I? Merlin knows, I tried hard enough in school. I hooked up with Larson and Venables, and I tried so hard to make those relationships mean something. But they never did. It was always Teddy."

Tamsyn shook her head. It was true. Victoire had never been able to move beyond Teddy Lupin. But that didn't make it healthy.

"Do you still love him, Vic?"

"Did I ever love him?"

"Vic…"

"Oh, Tamsy," the fight seemed to go out of Victoire suddenly, "I don't know. I don't know what it is between me and Teddy. I never knew. When I was a kid, it was some sort of hero-worship. I don't even know when that changed. I'm not sure it had completely changed before we started going out. I don't think that's the best basis for a relationship…"

"But Vic… what do you really feel about him? Never mind what you felt _then_; what do you feel _now_? You just keep arguing. Is there anything there at all, except some sort of physical attraction? You do still have sex, don't you?"

"Yes. That's about all we do manage to do together. And… I don't know. I try to tell myself that's all there is. I try to make myself believe that I'm _just_ attracted to him in a physical way, because that way, the arguments hurt less. The things he says hurt less."

"But it isn't true?" Tamsyn questioned.

"I don't know. Maybe." Victoire's voice had gone rather quiet and small.

"You must know, Victoire. You must have some idea whether you still have feelings for him, even if you don't know what they are."

"Oh, Merlin, Tamsy!" Victoire laughed slightly, the sound more like a sob, "Of course I do. How could I not? Don't you remember what I was like, all through school? I was a mess. He made my day if he smiled at me. I went to pieces if I saw him with another girl. I was obsessed with him.

"That sort of thing doesn't just disappear without leaving anything behind. But I don't know what it's left. I don't know what this is. I've never felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with him. He can make me smile or cry with a single word. When we're not shouting, I can talk to him the way I can't talk to anyone else. He smiles at me and suddenly the whole day's a good one.

"But is that enough, Tamsy? Is it love? Is it love when he insults me and calls me a cold-hearted bitch? Is it love when I hate him so much I just want to see him bleed? Love's supposed to feel good, isn't it? It's not supposed to be like this. The good times hardly ever happen any more. I spend more time crying over him than actually talking to him."

There was a short silence.

"What was it about this time?" Tamsyn asked eventually.

Victoire sighed, and then shivered.

"I don't even want to say it. He… he said horrible things. I shouldn't let him get to me so much."

"Of course he gets to you. If you do still have feelings for him."

Victoire's perfectly manicured fingers curled around her empty glass, running idly round the rim, her eyes sad.

"It was supposed to be perfect, Tamsy. We were supposed to fall in love and have this wonderful live together. What happened?"

"I suppose… you'd spent so many years arguing, you just couldn't stop, even if you had fallen for each other."

"I don't want to lose him," Victoire whispered, "He can be such a complete bastard, and I hate him sometimes, I hate him more than I ever hated anyone… but then I think of living without him, and that scares me so much… It isn't just the sex. I _need _him, Tamsyn. I don't know whether I love him, but I do know I need him. I don't want to lose him. But sometimes, I think I already have."

* * *

"You know, Teddy, sitting in your own flat, drinking your way through a bottle of firewhisky, by yourself, isn't all that healthy."

The voice was amused, but slightly concerned, and Teddy jumped. He looked up to see a short girl with messy dark brown hair standing looking at him. He sighed.

"Persis. What are you doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows and glanced down at herself. She was wearing a dressing gown, and very possibly nothing underneath it.

"Do you really need me to answer that?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Persis' lips twitched.

"It's okay. You didn't. But we thought you were staying over at Victoire's."

"Yeah, well. I… changed my mind. It's okay though. I won't get in your way here. I'll go… somewhere else."

"Don't be stupid, Ted. You live here. We weren't planning on having sex in here, or in your room, for that matter. You don't have to be out of the house for us to spend time together. But what happened with Victoire?"

He was silent, and she looked thoughtfully at him. One of his cheeks was still slightly red and swollen.

"You let that girl walk all over you, Teddy, you know that?"

"It was my fault," Teddy said tonelessly, and changed the subject, "What have you done with Guy?"

"He's in the shower. And don't change the subject. What happened?"

Teddy closed his eyes and sank down in his chair.

"She got promoted."

"And that's a problem?" Persis prompted.

"No!" Teddy insisted, "I… I just… well, I suppose I wasn't as supportive as I could have been. She… was all happy, and I got grumpy because… well, she already spends all her time on her job. There's never time for _us_," a note of frustration crept into his voice, "It's like her career's the most important thing in the world."

"Well… maybe it is, for her."

"Yeah, well that's the thing, isn't it? It's more important to her than trying to make things work between us. It's more important than _me_. And we just… think so differently. Because I don't really care about careers, and being rich and successful. I don't get why it matters so much to her, and she doesn't get why it _doesn't _to me."

"You think she puts her career ahead of you?"

"I know she does. She's as good as said that if it was a choice between getting her next promotion and spending time with me, she'd go for the job."

"Um," Persis flopped down on a chair opposite him, careful to keep the dressing gown closed, "I suppose that is hard. But you know, Victoire's always been like that. Ambitious, and driven, I mean. She always threw herself into her work at school, and put it ahead of everything. You knew that when you started going out with her."

"But back then, she made an effort for me. I was the only thing she _would_ put her work aside for, even before we started going out…"

"Yes…" Persis broke in thoughtfully, "You were the centre of her universe. She was obsessed with you. Nothing was more important than you; you could always rely on her attention. You used to moan about it quite a lot. Only you don't seem so happy now she's got a bit more independent and found that there are other things that matter in her life. Maybe you miss the hero-worship a little bit, Ted…"

"She hasn't worshipped me for a long time," he muttered, "She lost that back in fifth year."

"I'm not sure that's true, Teddy," Persis commented, "I think maybe she just learnt to hide it a bit better."

"Well, she hides it well enough now."

"What did you say to her, Teddy?"

"What makes you think I said anything?"

"You just told me you argued because you weren't supportive of her promotion. And I know you. I don't know anyone as easygoing as you, Teddy, except when it comes to Victoire. Then you _always_ say things you don't mean."

"Oh, Merlin," Teddy groaned, putting his head in his hands, "I… I've really blown it this time, Persis. It was a fucking horrible thing to say, when she was so happy about it. She wanted me to be happy for her. What kind of boyfriend am I? We could have… I don't know… celebrated together. Only instead, I said horrible things. As usual."

"Maybe you should go back and apologise, then?"

"I already apologised. And she's gone out."

There was a silence.

"Oh," Persis said at last, "Who with?"

"I don't know."

A door opened behind them.

"Pers, what are… Oh! I didn't know you were back, Ted."

Teddy looked up at the startled, and not altogether pleased, face of his best mate and flatmate.

"Oh shit, listen Guy, I'm not staying, I'll just…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Teddy," Persis broke in, "You have to get this sorted out. I can understand that it's hard, her being so ambitious and career-driven, because that's not really you. But you have to see that it means a lot to her. And you probably really hurt her…"

"You don't know half of it," Teddy muttered darkly, thinking of those other, even more hurtful, words that he had spoken in anger.

"You argued with Victoire again?" Guy broke in, and Teddy nodded brokenly.

"Well, shit, mate, just go back and make up with her. Do something nice and romantic. They love that…" he grinned at his girlfriend, who smiled back a little, before turning back to Teddy.

"Teddy, this is getting ridiculous. You're just spiralling into this awful thing that isn't even a proper relationship. You're going to lose everything you've ever had with her if you're not careful. I know you two have always argued, but you're just falling apart at the moment. Guy's right. If you don't want to lose her, you're going to have to work a bit harder…"

"You think I don't work hard at this relationship…?"

"I know you don't. When was the last time you made an effort for her? You don't even bother to _pretend _ to be happy for her when this sort of thing happens. And then when things get rough like this, you just run away and let her go out with other people."

"She's gone out?" Guy asked, "Right. Well, I've got an idea. Take a lesson from the master in charming witches, mate," he squeezed Persis' shoulder slightly, "Listen carefully. Here's what you do, Teddy…"

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**A/N: Bit of a short chapter, but I needed to get this bit out before moving to the next. Thanks to arwenjanelilylyra for her faithful reviews, but I'd really appreciate a few more. If you don't like it, tell me why!**


	4. White Roses

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything from JK Rowling's world.**

**A/N: Thanks to arwenjanelilylyra, Rosewood17 and tecumseh Dean for the reviews. Keep them coming folks!  
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The night hadn't really been a success. It was her fault, she was well aware of that. She hadn't really been in the mood, which was _his_ fault.

She had been happy and excited at her promotion. After all, she was only a year out of school; to be a Senior Assistant in the Department already was really very good. She had rushed out of work after being given the news, and flooed him to ask him to come over, before she'd even contacted her parents.

And then he had ruined it.

And she had ruined Tamsyn's night out, by being moody and miserable, and getting drunk too fast, and crying in the bar, and going on and on about Teddy and how infuriating he was, and how even more infuriating it was that she just couldn't seem to manage without him.

She was sober now, and soaking wet, because it was raining, and they had had to walk some distance before they found somewhere they could apparate without Muggles seeing them. And she was tired and her feet ached, and the thought of her dark, cold, empty house wasn't a cheering one. She fumbled with the key, and finally got the door open.

Only the house wasn't the way she'd left it.

For a moment, she stood in the doorway, shocked.

It wasn't dark, for one thing. There was dim, flickering light coming from… from candles placed around the room. It made the whole place look lovely and cosy.

And it _was_ cosy, because somebody had cast some spells to make the whole house as warm as toast, and there was a faint scent of sandalwood on the air.

And something told her that it wasn't quite empty either.

There was a movement in the far doorway, and she turned towards it. He was standing there, and even in the dim light, she could tell that his hair was yellow. The colour it went when he was nervous.

"Teddy?" she said, doubtfully, although she was not really in any doubt.

"Um… hello, Vic. Did you have a good time?"

His awkwardness was so out of keeping with the mood he had created that she almost laughed, despite everything.

"No, not really," she said honestly, "I wasn't really in the mood."

"Oh," he hesitated, dithering in the doorway.

"I…" she began, hesitated, and then went on with a rush, "Before, when I came out of the shower. I was going to say… I was going to tell you I was only going out with Tamsyn. But you'd gone."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry. I thought…"

"I know. I'm sorry I snapped."

This was ridiculously awkward. Why were they at separate sides of the room? She quietly closed the front door behind her, and looked at him.

"I… didn't expect you to come back."

"No," and suddenly he had moved, without her really being aware of him doing it, and he was right in front of her, so that she could see the seriousness in his eyes, even in this light.

"I couldn't leave it like that, Vic. I was out of line. I didn't mean it. It was an appalling thing to say."

"Yes, it was," she said, evenly.

"I'm sorry," he was standing very close, but not touching her, "I don't even know why I said it. Well, I do. I was angry, and I say bloody stupid things when I'm angry. Maybe you're right; maybe I am jealous. Not of you, for your job. It's great, but it wouldn't be what I wanted. I'm jealous _of _your job, because it gets to spend more time with you than I do. That's not an excuse though. I was a bastard. Vic… can we start again, please?"

"What?" she stared at him, startled.

"Can we pretend that earlier never happened? That you just came home from work just now, and flooed me, and asked me to come over because you had something to tell me. And I just got here…"

For a moment, she studied him. Then the very beginning of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Teddy," she said steadily, "I got promoted today."

His face broke into a grin, his relief almost palpable. If she was playing along, she had almost forgiven him.

"That's brilliant, Vic! Really brilliant! Well done! You deserve it," and he stepped up and kissed her. He didn't touch her anywhere else, obviously still not sure of his reception. But she melted against him, her arms twining around his neck, and his went around her waist, and he deepened the kiss, leaning into her.

"I'm so happy for you," he pulled away slightly, "I know how much you wanted it, and how hard you worked for it…"

She smiled up at him.

"Time to stop now, Teddy, or you'll be going over the top."

"I mean it."

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed him again.

After a moment, it was her who pulled away.

"I'm soaking wet."

He chuckled.

"There are so many inappropriate jokes I could make about that sentence."

She giggled slightly, but she was trembling with cold, despite the warmth of the house.

"I mean it, Teddy. I need to get something else on."

Wordlessly, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and proceeded to undress her, with none of the violence he had used earlier. This time he was careful and gentle, peeling her wet clothes off, and running his hands softly over her skin. She shivered at his touch, and tried to pull him in for a more heated kiss, but he resisted.

"Not yet, Vic."

And he dried her with a flick of his wand, and dressed her again, in a pair of soft pyjamas and her silk dressing gown, leaving her breathless. She had never known him like this. He had certainly never attempted to put her clothes _on _before, and she might have resisted with irritation his attempts to dress her, at any other time. But somehow, now, it felt… nice. And this kind, thoughtful, loving Teddy was so like the one she had known a couple of years ago that she was afraid of doing anything that might break the spell.

Then he took her hand and led her back into the main room, and she noticed things she had not noticed before. Like the fact that the scent of sandalwood was coming from a Muggle joss stick, the kind he knew she loved. And the fact that there was music playing faintly in the background. And that the usual clutter that came from somebody – often two people – living in the room, had been cleared away.

He pulled her gently onto the sofa, and sat down beside her, his hand ghosting down the side of her face

"This is what we should have done tonight," he murmured, "What do you want, Vic? You probably don't want more wine. We can do the wine tomorrow. But I could make something to eat, if you want… I wanted to get something ready, but I didn't know if you'd feel like eating."

She shook her head, and leaned in closer to him.

"I'm not hungry. We can do food tomorrow, as well."

She closed the distance between them, and kissed him; softly, but insistently.

"All I want is you, Teddy," she murmured, as she pulled away for a second, and looked into his eyes. Blue now; not electric, angry blue, but the blue of forget-me-nots.

She smiled slightly, recognising that blue.

"You know, Teddy," she whispered, "It's slightly disconcerting to kiss somebody while you're looking into the eyes you see in the mirror every day."

"Oh," he looked a little self-conscious, "Sorry. I didn't realise," he concentrated and his eyes turned to a warm brown, with golden flecks around the edges. The colour she suspected, although it was hard to know, was his 'natural' colour, because it made him look rather similar to photographs of his father.

"Better?" he asked.

"Hmm," she agreed, and kissed the corner of his mouth, "I'm glad you came back, Teddy."

Without looking away from her, he reached behind him onto the table and slid the box she had noticed onto her lap.

"I didn't get wine, but I did get these."

She stared at it for a moment, and then up at him, almost doubtful. She couldn't remember the last time he had got her something.

Carefully, she slid the lid off the box, and lifted the paper that lay beneath. Inside were six perfect white roses, all just on the point of opening fully. And she remembered telling him, ages ago, how much she loved roses.

"_But they look so awful around me," she had said regretfully, "It's the worst thing about having hair the colour of mine; so many other colours don't go. And all the usual rose colours; all those lovely pinks and reds; they just clash so badly with my hair. And I don't like yellow ones so much."_

He had laughed at her then, because it was such a Victoire thing to say; it wasn't as if she _wore_ the roses. Why should it matter that they didn't go with her hair?

But he had remembered. He had bought her white roses.

For a moment, she looked at them. Then she picked up the card that lay on top of them, and turned it over.

"Because you deserve so much more," it said simply.

Then she looked up at him, and he looked anxious; worried that he had done the wrong thing. And she smiled.

"Thank you, Teddy. I don't, but thank you."

And she kissed him again, and this time he did allow her to deepen it, and she slid the roses on to the floor, so that they didn't get crushed as he pushed her back against the sofa, and they lost themselves in each other.

* * *

He woke before she did in the morning.

Somehow, they had made it to the bedroom, although not for some time, he remembered.

Her head was resting on the crook of his arm, one hand flung across his chest, her breathing even.

He couldn't quite believe how perfect it had been. After the terrible nightmare earlier in the evening… he felt as though it must have been a dream, only there she was, sleeping beside him. And he wasn't still asleep and dreaming, because his hand was dead, trapped under her, and that never happened in his dreams of Victoire.

He had expected her to be cold and angry still; he had expected his gesture to fall on stony ground. He had half expected to be thrown out of the house before she'd even listened to what he had to say.

Friends could really come through for you sometimes, even if you did interrupt their own romantic evening, with your messed-up problems. He owed Guy and Persis a drink each for this one.

He ought to feel that he could lie here like this forever; that was the cliche thing to think; and it _was_ pleasant, and she made rather a beautiful sight… but his arm was numb. So he eased it out from under her, and checked the clock on her bedside table.

It was half past eleven.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and leaned over her. She stirred slightly.

"Vic," he whispered, and she moaned softly.

Shit. He swallowed hard, his eyes widening

If she made more noises like that, they wouldn't be getting up for a while. And he really had to get up.

He shook her gently.

"Victoire, wake up. It's almost the afternoon."

Her eyes opened blearily, and focussed on him after a few seconds. She smiled.

"Oh, good."

"Good?" he questioned, "Why, what's good about it being the afternoon?"

"Nothing," she said sleepily, "I meant… Oh, good, it wasn't a dream," she came awake a bit more, and looked anxiously up at him, "It _wasn't_ a dream, was it? About you coming back, and being here when I came in…?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" he pointed out, "I don't know, Vic. For a Senior Assistant in the International Relations Office, you take a while to catch onto things."

She giggled.

"Do we have to get up?"

He nodded regretfully.

"Well, you don't. But I didn't want to just get up and leave you while you were still asleep. And I have to get going. I'm supposed to be at Gran's for lunch."

"Oh," she wrinkled her nose slightly, "Do you have to? I wanted to spend today with you."

"Yes," he said softly, "You know she's not been well. And I promised. You can come too, if you get a move on."

It was tempting, just to be close to him for the day, but she knew that Teddy didn't go home as often as he should, and that Andromeda Tonks appreciated the times she had her grandson to herself, so she shook her head regretfully.

"No. I'd like to, but you and her should have some time together. You go. I've got some work I should do anyway."

He swallowed the slight irritation at her mention of 'work to do.' He wasn't going to mess it up so soon. It was him who had said he had something else to do, after all.

"Tonight?" he asked, hopefully, "I still owe you that celebratory bottle of wine."

She frowned.

"Aren't you working tonight?"

"I was," he shrugged, "I'll call in sick."

Her frown deepened.

"You'll lose your job if you keep doing that."

He almost said he didn't care, but bit the words back in time.

"I don't keep doing that," he said instead, lightly, "This is the first time I've done it. And I think my girlfriend getting promotion is excuse enough. I want to have a whole evening with you. You're not going to say no, are you, Vic?"

She hesitated for a moment, and then gave in and smiled.

"No. That would be nice."

He came out of the shower ten minutes later to find her in a dressing gown, putting the roses into a vase of water.

She looked up and smiled at him, and his heart soared. He could get used to starting days like this.

"We forgot them last night," she said, gesturing at the flowers, "They're beautiful, Teddy."

He came up to her and put his arms around her waist.

"I forgot a lot of things last night," he murmured into her neck.

She shivered at the suggestion in his voice, but then laughed shakily as he started nibbling on her ear.

"Don't, Teddy. You'll never get anywhere if you start that, and then what would you tell your gran?"

He laughed too, and pulled away, without letting go of her waist.

"We'll save it for tonight, right?"

"Teddy…" she wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him, "Thank you. For last night. It was lovely."

He lifted a hand, and pushed her hair away from her face, tracing her cheek bone with a roughened thumb.

"Don't say thank you," he murmured, "Because you deserve so much more."

* * *

She really did have work she should do, but somehow, she couldn't be bothered to do it. It could wait. So she flooed Tamsyn instead, and suggested a shopping trip.

They met in the Leaky Cauldron, and Tamsyn took one look at her friend and raised her eyebrows.

"Well… you seem a bit more cheerful today."

Victoire laughed happily.

"We've made up. It was lovely."

"Let me guess," Tamsyn said dryly, "You had sex?"

"Well… yes," Victoire admitted, "But it was so much more than that. He was waiting for me when I got home. He'd done it out all romantic, with candles and everything. And he'd bought me the most beautiful roses. And we're going to have dinner tonight."

Tamsyn smiled, although there was slight reserve behind the smile.

"Well, that's good. At least he obviously knows what he did."

"It wasn't just him," Victoire insisted, "I said some pretty nasty things too. I was just upset last night."

"But you're all sorted? And you think it won't just happen again?"

Victoire looked thoughtful.

"I… don't know. It probably will, at some point. But last night felt… different. We hadn't been like that with each other for ages. It was like it used to be. All those things we had, the things I thought we'd lost; they're still there, if I only look for them. And… I realised… he wants to find them too."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm not so sure about it myself, I feel like it doesn't quite capture what I wanted to. And maybe it's a bit too cheesy. At least it's a bit happier than the last few. Don't worry, that won't last long ;-)  
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**Review, please, and tell me what you think.  
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	5. Worm of Suspicion

**Disclaimer: I do not own JK Rowling's characters or world.**

**A/N: Thanks to arwenjanelilylyra and Tecumseh Dean for more reviews. Glad you liked the last chapter. **

**Still a bit short on the reviews though, so would be great to hear from you, even if you just give me a line to tell me if you like it or hate it.**

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For a time, it worked. But roses fade, and so do good intentions.

Sometimes, Victoire though perhaps that Tamsyn had been right. She and Teddy had always argued, even when they had been children. Maybe they could never really stop. But that night when everything had nearly fallen apart for good, and he had caught the pieces just in time and carefully brought them together again, had given Vic a new hope. No, not new. There had always been that hope. She liked to think of herself as a realist, not an optimist, but when it came to Teddy, that hope just refused to die.

She didn't think it was being overly optimistic to say that they had changed, even if that change wasn't immediately obvious on the outside. There _were_ real feelings there, and they both knew it, even when the anger came spilling out again. There was something real and solid underneath it all, holding it together, where before she had always been afraid that there was nothing but terrifying, gaping emptiness, waiting for her to fall into it when everything crumbled.

Knowing that didn't make it much easier, when they argued, as they had that morning.

Victoire's job took up a lot of her time; she was well aware of that, but it was surely something he could understand? Only, apparently, it wasn't. And it made her uneasy, that he could not understand something so important to her.

That side of things was worse that it had been. Teddy had lost his job, and failed to find another one, so he was simply sitting at home most days, or else escaping to see Hagrid at Hogwarts (the old man was long retired, but still lived in his cottage in the grounds), or go and look after Hippogriffs, or whatever he did with those ridiculous friends of his. And Victoire was working overtime at the moment, because her boss was away on Maternity Leave, and her replacement was still struggling to understand how the department worked. Teddy resented the amount of time she spent at work, and she was once more frustrated by his lack of motivation.

So she had not gone home for her lunch break, as she might have done, but instead had found a rather uninspiring little cafe, sat down with a black coffee and a chicken sandwich, and pulled out the Daily Prophet. She scanned over the front page, but there was nothing interesting, and she sighed tiredly.

And then a voice beside her said:

"Victoire Weasley?"

She looked up and her heart sank. This was somebody she could easily have done without seeing again.

"Mind if I join you?" Kathryn Dimont asked.

_Yes_, Vic's mind said, _Go away!_ But she was an adult now, not a child, so she pasted what she hoped looked like a genuine smile on her face.

"Of course not," she said brightly, managing to sound enthusiastic.

"It's been a long time," Kathryn commented, as she sat down, "How's life treating you?"

"Well, actually," Victoire replied, "I'm working for the Ministry. The Department for International Wizarding Relations. How about you?"

"Oh," Kathryn laughed, "Nothing as high-flying as you. That was never really my style, you know. I was never very ambitious. But I've got my own little café in the Wizarding district in Oxford. It doesn't bring in all that much, but it suits me. Are you… still with Teddy Lupin?"

Victoire fiddled with her teaspoon and wished she were anywhere but here. Kathryn was the last person she wanted to talk about Teddy to. Not when Vic couldn't even look at the other girl without remembering her and Teddy kissing... Not when she remembered that Kathryn had had him first…

"Er… yes, actually."

Kathryn looked at her, with an uncomfortably understanding look on her face, and smiled kindly.

"Don't worry, Victoire. I never blamed you for what happened with me and Teddy…"

Vic gritted her teeth. Inside her head, a voice was screaming, _shut up, shut up, shut up! There was no 'you and Teddy!' You and Teddy was a stupid joke; a mistake! It was _me_ and Teddy. _Always _me and Teddy!_

But she said nothing, and Kathryn went on.

"I hope you know what you're doing, though, Victoire. Teddy's… not the easiest person to go out with."

Rage welled up in Victoire, but she swallowed it back.

"I've been with him for over three years, Kathryn. I think I can handle it."

"Yes…" Kathryn looked worriedly at the younger girl, "But… well, don't forget what he did to you when we were still at school. I saw it, remember? And he was still going out with me at the time. He may seem like the perfect boyfriend, but… well, they say 'once a cheater, always a cheater…'"

Victoire dropped the teaspoon into her saucer with a clatter, and stared angrily at Kathryn across the table.

"What exactly are you saying?" she demanded.

Kathryn leaned forwards.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Victoire… can I call you Vic, by the way? I'm only saying it for your sake. I mean, obviously, Teddy's nothing to me any more. But if he'd cheat on one girl, he'd cheat on another. And there are… rumours…"

_Jealousy, _that voice in her head insisted, _She's jealous. Everyone reads too much into that kiss. It's nonsense. He cheated _with_ me. We were _meant_ to be together, that's why it happened. He loved me, never Kathryn Dimont. And he was seventeen._

But another part of her mind, the part that was a cool, hard-headed career woman, not a romantic girl, pushed the voice back and refused to snap out the answer she wanted to. Instead, she looked steadily at Kathryn.

"What do you mean, rumours?"

"Well," Kathryn looked uncomfortable, "I really don't want you to read too much into it, Vic. It's probably rubbish. But Chiara Benson – you remember her, she was in our year? - her boyfriend was working on that dragon repatriation project that Teddy was helping out with, you know?"

Victoire nodded stiffly, not missing Kathryn's different terms. Chiara's boyfriend had been 'working;' Teddy had been 'helping out.'

"Well… there was a girl on that… quite pretty, Chiara said, but one of those mannish girls, who likes doing outdoors stuff and things like that. Like Teddy. She was working on that project, and apparently, her and Teddy… got quite close. And then there was Bel Hardy, but that was only a drunk kiss… and it might never have happened."

Something in Victoire had tightened up, and she heard Kathryn's words as if from far away. Anger made her hands shake slightly. She was done with being polite.

"If you're only here to try and make my boyfriend into a cheating bastard, I haven't got time for it," she snapped, "I'm not interested, so I'd suggest you just go now. In fact, don't bother. I'm going myself."

And she got up and walked away, before she threw her coffee in the other girl's face. What right did Kathryn Dimont to say things like that? So, she and Teddy had been together for a while in school. Well, Teddy and Victoire had been together nearly four years. Kathryn Dimont meant nothing at all. She was jealous, because Victoire had won. Victoire had got Teddy in the end. That was all it was.

And those rumours… just rumours. Probably, Kathryn had invented them herself. Teddy might be a bastard sometimes; he might say terrible things to her, and shout at her… but he would _never_ cheat on her.

Would he?

* * *

In the days that followed, it was as if there was a horrible, poisonous worm in her mind. She tried to ignore it; tried to push it away; tried to deny its whispers.

But she could not forget.

She wished she had simply told Teddy about the encounter with Kathryn. Wished she had been able to tell him of the horrible things his ex-girlfriend had said. Wished she could have heard him roar with laughter at the idea, and tell her that Kathryn was just a spiteful bitch.

But she hadn't, because of the tiny part of her that was terrified that he _wouldn't_ laugh. That she might see confusion and guilt on his face. Or, perhaps even worse, anger, that she could even think such things worth repeating. He might think she was accusing him. And she was afraid that if he thought that, that would be something they could never go back from.

So she didn't. She said nothing, and the worm ate away at the back of her mind.

_It could be true_, it said.

No.

_This girl; she sounds more Teddy's type, doesn't she?_

_I'm_ Teddy's type!

_But you don't like doing the things he does. You're not interested in getting your hands dirty. You don't understand why he always wants to be outside, doing something physical. That girl; _she_ understands._

What girl? There is no girl. Kathryn Dimont made her up.

_Did she? Why would she do that?_

She's jealous.

_Oh, come on. She was seventeen. Surely she'd have moved on by now. She sounded more like she was… concerned for you._

No.

_But just suppose… He _did_ cheat on Kathryn, after all._

When he was seventeen.

_Is that an excuse? Has he changed so much?_

He cheated with _me_. It's different!

_How?_

He loves me.

_Has he _ever_ said so?_

Yes.

_Really? When?_

He must have…

_But what if he doesn't?_

She could never forget. She found herself wondering where he was, when he wasn't with her. She found herself stiffening when he mentioned other girls' names. When he came in after a day's work, windswept, cheeks reddened by being out of doors, smiling at a satisfactory day, she wondered whether _she_ had been there. And that faceless, nameless girl loomed larger and larger in her imagination.

She had to know.

That was the thought that kept coming back to her. If she could find out for certain, she could put that whispering voice to rest. But she was afraid. Afraid of what she would find out. And she hated herself for that.

"You deserve so much more," he had said, but she didn't. She couldn't even trust him. It was him who deserved more. Or did he? Not if it was true…

She find herself sitting for hours, when he wasn't around; sitting curled up in chair, as if she was in physical pain, going over and over it in her head; hating herself, and hating him, and hating Kathryn Dimont, and hating that other girl whose name she did not know. Trying to bear it. Trying to find the courage to talk to him about it. Talk to anyone about it.

She hadn't even said anything to Tamsyn. She wished she could; Tamsyn was always so down-to-earth, and sensible about things. Tamsyn would tell her she was being silly. But what if she didn't? What if she thought the stories might be true? She could not have heard the rumours, because she would have said something. But Victoire knew her friend had reservations about Teddy. What if she said, like Kathryn, 'Once a cheater, always a cheater'?

But Teddy _wasn't_ a cheater. You couldn't call one stupid kiss as a teenager, _cheating_.

Could you?

* * *

There was something different about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it felt almost as if she had withdrawn from him in some way. He caught her looking at him with an expression he did not understand.

It scared him. What was she thinking? Could she be thinking about breaking up with him? Had they come so far to let it all go now?

He wished he had the courage to talk to her about it; to ask her. But he didn't, because he was afraid that if he brought it up, it would just make it happen more quickly.

So he said nothing, and waited for whatever was to come.

It was not long in coming

* * *

_You have to know_.

That was what the voice had been saying recently. And that was how she ended up on Chiara Benson's doorstep.

She had never really known Chiara. She remembered her vaguely as a pretty, dark-haired girl in Teddy's year; one of Kathryn Dimont's crowd, but one of the ones who always hung around the edges; fairly quiet and studious; not given to inventing wild stories.

And pregnant, these days, Victoire realised with a slight shock, as she answered the door. Merlin, the girl was only two years older than Vic; scary to think that that could be her. Victoire wasn't planning on having children for many years, if at all.

Chiara's face showed blank surprise at seeing Victoire, and Vic put a painful smile onto her face.

"Chiara, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," the other girl agreed, "Victoire. I… I wasn't expecting you."

Well, that was a reasonably polite way of putting it. They could hardly have exchanged two words in all their years at school.

"I'm sorry," Vic didn't have emotional energy to spare for many niceties, but she did her best, "I'm sorry to come round like this. I was actually wondering if I could talk to you about something."

"Of course," Chiara agreed readily, "Come in now, if you want. I don't really do very much at the moment," she gestured at her swollen stomach.

Victoire followed the older girl into a house that was almost painfully clean and tidy. Her hands were clammy with nerves, she realised with annoyance. Nerves weren't something she usually suffered from, but today her brain felt as though it had been hot-wired, and she was shaking too. But she couldn't go to pieces. She gathered the last of her professional cool.

"Congratulations, by the way. I didn't know," and her voice came out sounding strange in her ears.

Chiara smiled, her face lighting up.

"Thanks. We can't wait. And I'll be glad when the pregnancy's over. It's got to that awful tired, heavy stage."

Victoire smiled tightly. She had no desire to hear about Chiara Benson's pregnancy.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Chiara asked, "I was just about to put the kettle on."

Victoire wanted nothing but to get the truth and go… but then she thought maybe a cup of tea would soothe her nerves, so she accepted, although it was almost too much to bear, sitting there politely, while Chiara waddled (there was really no nice way to describe it) around, getting the tea ready.

Chiara seemed a little awkward herself, and Victoire couldn't blame her. She must be wondering what on earth this was all about.

Once she had a cup of rather weak tea in her hands, Chiara sat down with a relieved sigh, and looked expectantly at the younger girl.

"Well… it's been a long time. What do you do these days?"

"I work at the Ministry," said Vic shortly, not wanting to be sidetracked into talking about careers.

"Of course, we've seen Teddy more recently," Chiara went on, cheerfully, "My boyfriend, Barney, was working on that dragon project, you know. He brought Teddy round here one day. He seemed very well… How is he now?"

Victoire hesitated, and was horrified to feel tears prickling the backs of her eyelids.

"He… he's fine. He's… looking for a new job at the moment."

"Oh," Chiara looked a little concerned, "What sort of thing is he looking for? We were a bit surprised that he was working in a pub, to be honest. I mean… what he really seems to enjoy is working with the animals… Is he looking for something like that? Not that I'm trying to pry…"

Victoire sighed.

"It's okay. I don't really know what he wants to do. You're right, he should do something like that. But… he's not very ambitious. He prefers helping out in an unofficial way, really…" she stopped herself saying any more. Teddy preferred helping out to taking any responsibility, which was why he avoided proper jobs. He ran away from any sort of responsibility as though it burned. But she wouldn't say that to Chiara Benson.

Instead, she took a deep breath.

"Actually… it was Teddy I came here to talk about, Chiara…" She could not be polite and beat about the bush forever. She was going to have to come clean and bare her soul to this smiling girl, with her perfect house and perfect life and her baby on the way.

"I saw Kathryn Dimont the other day."

"Oh," it was only a small word, but something about the way Chiara spoke it, told Victoire that perhaps what she had to say next might not come as such a surprise.

"She was talking about Teddy." Victoire was finding it hard to remember to breathe, she was concentrating so hard on the other girl. Was it her imagination, or had a closed expression come into Chiara's face?

"She said… it was something you'd told her…"

"Oh, Merlin," the walls came down suddenly, and Chiara slumped down in her chair, "Oh, Victoire, I'm so, so sorry… I never thought she'd… Oh, Merlin, Kathy, what have you done?" she looked anxiously at Victoire, "What did she say, exactly?"

"That girl," Victoire said quietly, "The girl on the dragon project. Who is she? What happened?"

Chiara took a deep breath.

"Victoire, I don't know what Kathy told you… but… I shouldn't say this, because she's my friend, but she's always been inclined to exaggerate. She likes telling stories…"

"Who is she?"

"Her name's Zoë Lester. You might remember her. She was the year above you. Hufflepuff. But…"

"Please tell me the truth, Chiara. Did anything happen between her and Teddy? What did you tell Kathryn?"

Chiara looked deeply unhappy.

"Victoire, please believe me, I never meant it to come to this… I didn't mean you to get hurt. But the truth is… I don't really know."

Victoire turned away, the tension in her shoulders giving way to a despairing slump. Still no answers…

"It was Barney who suggested it to me," Chiara went on miserably, "He had no idea about you and Teddy. It was right at the start of the project. Barney was a few years ahead of us at Hogwarts, you know. He never really knew Teddy, before the project. But he knew that I'd known him; that we were in the same year. And… he said, one day, that he thought there might be something happening between Teddy and Zoë. He thought… he thought it was just a piece of fun gossip, you know. And I… well, I didn't even know if you were still going out, and I assumed when Barney said that, that you weren't.

"Until I mentioned it to Kathy, and she told me that you two were still together. But by that time, the project was nearly over, and Barney hasn't seen Teddy since. Neither have I…"

"But he came here," Victoire said, intensely, "When he came round here, didn't you say anything to him? Didn't you ask him…?"

"Well… no, not really. I mean, I was never that close to Teddy. We were just classmates, you know? It was nice to see him, but… I didn't like to ask him anything like that. Barney… did say something about Zoë at one point, and Teddy… well, I'm sorry, Victoire, but he did go a bit red and looked embarrassed. But it might not have meant anything. Honestly, that's all I know. It's nothing, really. I'm sure it's nothing. I don't think Teddy would cheat on someone, no matter what Kathy says. I know Kathy, and like I say, she exaggerates. I'm sure it didn't mean anything. Oh Merlin, I'm sorry, Victoire, honestly I am. I'm going to kill Kathy!"

Somehow, Victoire got away from Chiara, who seemed determined to apologise as profusely as possible. Somehow, she got out onto the street, and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

Well, that was that over. She still had no answers, really. Just rumours and suggestions and second-hand reports.

But Kathryn Dimont had not simply made the mysterious girl up. Victoire had a name.

Zoë Lester.


	6. If You Loved Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's characters or world.**

**A/N: Ok, sorry it's been a while since I updated. I've now finished my degree! Which ought to mean I have loads of time for writing, but it hasn't quite worked out that way. I'm going off to Italy for the summer in a couple of weeks, so there's a lot to sort out! I don't know how much access to the internet I'm going to have while I'm over there, so I will try VERY hard to get this finished for you before I go.**

**Thanks to arwenjanelilylyra (as always), Camo Spesh Owl, anavihs and ms. wolf for your lovely reviews, I'm glad that more people are now enjoying this story! **

**This is a short chapter, so sorry for that, but it had to end where it does really.**

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The little thing was perfect.

Well, okay, it was pretty ugly really, but still… perfect.

He watched it wobble a few steps and then fall to its knees. Its mother nuzzled gently at it, and it raised its head and gazed adoringly at her. Then it shook itself, ruffling the downy feathers on its head, and began to make another attempt to stand.

The mother looked up at him, and made a crooning noise, contentment in her eyes. Teddy laughed softly.

"I know, girl. He's beautiful."

The baby hippogriff tottered sideways, and snapped playfully at a leaf blowing past, its horse's tail swishing from side to side. Teddy couldn't stop a delighted grin from breaking out on his face. This was a privilege not many people got to see; Hippogriffs were fiercely protective mothers, and they didn't let many people close. But this one knew Teddy well, and he was a welcome audience.

The little thing had emerged from its egg wet and spiky, but its mother had lovingly cleaned it up, and now its down fluffed out around its head, and the biscuit-coloured fur on its flanks was as soft as any new-born foal's. Its eyes were too big, and its talons too long, it's beak large on its face, and its wings endearingly tiny, but to Teddy, it was perfect.

In the innocence of babyhood, it approached him, eyes curious. He looked up at its mother for permission, and the female hippogriff inclined her head graciously. With a smile, Teddy extended a dirty hand, and felt the small soft beak nip at his fingers. Moving carefully so as not to frighten it, he moved his hand round, and stroked the baby feathers, fingers calloused but gentle.

It was at moments like this that he almost felt he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Could there be anything more perfect than this?

* * *

He came home to find her there before him, which was a surprise. Usually, she worked overtime these days.

But all was not right. She was sitting on the floor, in front of the fireplace, a blank expression on her face, staring at nothing in particular. She did not even look up as he came. Alarmed, he hurried over to her.

"Victoire? Are you okay? Are you ill?"

Her head turned slowly towards him, and his hand stopped in its movement towards her shoulder, as he moved backwards instinctively. In all the years he'd known her, in all their arguments, he didn't think he'd ever seen fury like that in her eyes.

"What…?" he began, but she cut him off.

"Get out."

Her voice was low and cold and only just under control. His eyes widened.

"Victoire… what's the matter?"

"Just go, Teddy. Go before I do something stupid. Get out of this house, and don't come back."

He stared at her, his insides turning to ice as her words sank in. Was this it? Was this what he had been waiting for? But what did the fury in her eyes mean? What had brought it on? He was damned if he was leaving it like this.

"Victoire, what's happened?" he said quietly, "What have I done? I don't understand…"

"I said, get out. This is my house; I'm the only one paying any rent, anyway. And I'm telling you to leave." But her voice shook at the end, and he knew she wasn't as calm as she was pretending.

He shook his head.

"No, Vic, I'm not leaving like that. What the fuck is this about? Talk to me, Victoire!"

"Oh, you want to talk?" her control was breaking down, and although he was apprehensive about what might happen when she snapped, he knew that the truth would spill out soon.

"You want to talk. Great. So… what shall we talk about, Teddy? I don't know… how about Zoë Lester? Should we talk about her? That seems like a good place to start. But I don't really know enough to talk about her. So why don't _you_ start?"

For a moment, Teddy stood very still, forgetting to breathe.

Zoë Lester.

That was a name he had never expected to hear from Victoire's lips. A name he had _hoped _he would never hear from Victoire's lips. A name, in fact, that he had tried to forget.

"What… what do you want to know?" he asked, eventually, his throat constricting so that the words came out croaky.

For a moment, there was silence, as Victoire appeared to fight for control; whether over her temper, or over tears, he could not tell.

"The truth," she said at last, her voice hard and tiny, but perfectly clear, "For once, just tell me the truth. It's all been a lie, hasn't it? Everything between us… a lie… and I'm sick of it. So if you want to talk, just tell me the truth. And then go."

She was kneeling, sideways on to the fireplace and sideways on to him, her feet tucked neatly under her, her back straight and her hands in her lap, in the way that always made him think of a cat. Only today, he got the impression that one wrong move would turn the quiet animal into a spitting, scratching spitfire.

Panic washing through him, and he bought himself a moment to think by sitting down in front her, his back to the fire, so that he was now sideways on to her. She did not flicker, but continued to stare past him, her eyes stormy.

"Vic, who's been talking to you?"

"Don't you _dare_ call me that," she spat, her eyes flashing towards him for a moment, before looking away again.

There was silence again for a moment, then eventually, she said tightly:

"More than one person, actually. I met your lovely ex-girlfriend a couple of weeks ago."

"_Kathy_?" Teddy said incredulously, "Merlin, Vic…toire, she knows _nothing _about me! I haven't seen her for years! What the hell did she…?"

"Don't, Theodore," her voice had not unfrozen in the least, and his heart sank. He had never heard Victoire use his full name before; she had occasionally called him by his surname, back in school, when she had been angry with him. But she had never called him Theodore.

"_Don't try to lie_," she went on furiously, "You know you never could lie to my face. If there was nothing true about what she said, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did when I said her name. Anyway, I talked to other people."

"Who?" he asked, after a pause.

"Does it matter?"

"Well… yes…"

"Teddy, are you trying to work out what I've been told, so you can decide which bits of the rest to tell me? Because I am fucking _sick_ of lies… Oh Merlin, why am I even bothering? Just… just go, Teddy."

"Victoire," he said desperately, "I've never told you a lie in my life! I swear it…"

"There's more than one kind of lie! Just because you've never… never said words that are untrue doesn't mean you've never lied! This whole _relationship_'s been a lie, Teddy. Cheating _is _lying!

"Every time you've kissed me… Every time we've had sex… Every time we've sat and talked and… and laughed, and had a good time together… It's all been a lie, Teddy! You've been _living _the fucking lie, and I can't… can't take it any more! You can live your bloody lies if you want, but I can't… I won't… I _won't_ live them with you…!"

Her voice had risen and cracked as her control broke down, and at the end, the tears came, and he wanted to touch her; to put his arms around her and ease the tears away, but he knew that that would be the worst thing he could do right now.

"All right," he said, trying to keep his own voice calm now, "You want the truth; well you can have it.

"Victoire, I swear to you, there's nobody who means as much to me as you do. Zoë Lester… okay, I'll come clean. I should have told you ages ago. So much for being a Gryffindor. I'm a fucking coward, Vic. I didn't tell you because I was scared. But it was _nothing_! I swear it. It was just… a bit of flirting. She was nice, and funny, and… well, it just happened. I didn't mean it too, but it did. But… but it didn't _mean_ anything! Nothing at all! You're the _only_ one, I swear…

I'm not making excuses for myself. I know you'll probably still never want to see me again. I know… I know I'm a bastard," his voice broke in a sob, "I… I regretted it as soon as it had happened, Victoire. I came to my senses in about a week, and I couldn't believe what I'd done.

"I'm sorry, Vic. Oh Merlin, I'm so, so sorry… I should have told you… I should have admitted it… But everything was so bad anyway, I was scared it would be the last straw. Scared that that would be the end. And I wanted so much to hold it together with you.

"But I've regretted it ever since. And if this is the end, I… I'll regret it for the rest of my life… I'll regret it so much you wouldn't believe it. Because I love you, Victoire Weasley, and I could never love anybody else…"

He was crying himself now, and didn't bother to hide it. He looked beseechingly at her from the golden brown eyes that were like his father's. She met his gaze with a look that was dead inside.

"You're a bit late, Teddy," she said flatly, the tears still on her cheeks, although she was no longer crying, and her tone was bitter, but calm again, "I went to see Chiara Benson yesterday. She's pregnant; did you know that? It was her who told me about Zoë Lester. She didn't tell me everything though. Maybe she didn't know.

"Because today, you know, I went and found Zoë Lester. That's the good thing of having gone to school with everyone, isn't it? It wasn't that hard to find out where she lived. Only she wasn't there. Or maybe she was, but she hid inside. Her sister was there, though.

"She wasn't that polite, the sister. Shouted at me, and told me I could go and tell my precious boyfriend where to stick it. Or rather, where _not_ to stick it. She also said you'd better be going to go and sort things out with Zoë. She said some other things, but I don't really appreciate being used as go-between for the two of you.

"Were you _ever _going to tell me, Theodore?," she went on, the bitterness in her voice increasing, and the tears threatening again, "Or were you going to keep it as your _dirty little secret_…?"

He was staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Victoire, _what are you talking about_? I don't get it… there's nothing to _sort out_ between me and Zoë… We've already sorted it out. I told her… told her I had a girlfriend. I told her I loved _you_, and that I couldn't see her again… she was… well, she was quite nice about it. I don't know what her sister was…"

"Oh Merlin!" Victoire gave a shriek of entirely mirthless laughter that was almost hysterical, and stared at him for a moment, then laughed again, only this time it was more of a sob.

"You don't know, do you? You really don't know. She didn't even tell you. Well, Teddy, I've got some fucking news for you. Chiara Benson's not the only one who's pregnant, you know.

"So telling me you _love _me… Like I say, it's a bit late, isn't it? _Love_? If you _loved _me, you wouldn't have shagged Zoë Lester. If you loved me, she wouldn't be pregnant with your child."


	7. Shattered Shards

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A/N: Well, those of you who are reading my other current story, Choices, have already heard this, but I am so so sorry to have left this story so long with an update. I thought I'd have lost all my readers of Choices, but some of them proved that they're still with me, so hopefully the same will be true here. Please let me know if you're still reading!

**In my defence, I've spent the last three months working in Italy, which has meant travelling round all the time, and not really having much time for writing. But I'm now home and currently have nothing to do, so I now have no excuse for irregular updates!**

**Anyhow, belated thanks to the reviewers of my last chapter, although it was so long ago you've probably forgotten you ever reviewed - thank you BuddysLilSis, Camo Spesh Owl, ms wolf, Tecumseh Dean, anavihs and arwenjanelilylyra! **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter - it gets a little different right at the end - not actually how I planned it, but it just happened! Readers of Choices will meet a main character (all my stories are set in the same universe) and may also notice a reference to an incident that is also mentioned in one of the recent chapters of that story. I may have to write a story in which that incident actually occurs some time.**

**Oh well, enough of my rambling. Enjoy!**

* * *

He had ruined his life.

That was all he could think of as he sat on the park bench, staring blankly at nothing. He was twenty two, and he had already ruined his life.

Pregnant. Zoë Lester was pregnant. _Zoë Lester_ was pregnant with _his_ child. However many times he went over the words in his head, they never made any more sense.

When Victoire had first made her announcement, he had been struck dumb for a second. Then he had opened his mouth to deny it; to say that it was impossible; that nothing had ever happened between him and Zoë.

But he couldn't, because if he was honest, he didn't know _what_ had happened between him and Zoë. One night. That was all it had been, but that was all it took. Just one night of stupid drunkenness. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the thought.

It had been the last day of the project, which had almost ended disastrously when a dragon had revived from the tranquilising spell too soon, and had been furious to find itself bound and caged. They had managed to contain the situation, and the feeling of euphoria that they had finally done it had taken them to a pub, and then to another…

He remember kissing her. It had been the culmination of several weeks throughout which he had attempted to deny to himself that he was attracted to Zoe. Several weeks during which he tried to tell himself that the friendly banter was not flirting, and that there was no rising tension between the two of them. But afterwards, if he was honest, he knew that it had been brewing for most of the project.

It had been that bad time with Victoire, when every day seemed to bring new arguments; ugly, vicious arguments that made it feel as though he was trapped in a nightmare. The project had been a means of escape; when he was there, he didn't have to think about the tangled mess that was his life. And Zoe had been part of that; something uncomplicated and simple and refreshing. And damned sexy to go with it - there was no denying that.

And in the pub, when everyone was happy and laughing, and the alcohol was flowing freely, he had kissed her... what had happened after that was a blank. He had assumed that a drunken kiss in the pub was all it had been, and he had tortured himself enough just over that. The next day, he had woken up with a raging hangover and a sense of horror at what he had done. He had a bloody girlfriend! Things might no be easy, but Teddy Lupin wasn't the sort of person to pull random girls for the hell of it. It felt like he had finally come to his senses, and he had known that, whatever the nature of his relationship with Victoire, he loved her. And he did not love Zoe; she was a nice, attractive girl, that was all. It might have been simpler if he _had_ been in love with her; simpler than loving Victoire Weasley, that was certain. But life didn't work like that. _Simple _didn't mean _right_.

So he had broken the news to Zoe. He had felt terrible for what he had done to her, and had been as gentle as possible, and, as he had told Victoire, she had been quite pleasant about it. Not for a moment had it occurred to him that it had gone further than that kiss, and try as he might now, he could not remember how that night had ended. He had woken up alone in his own bed the next morning... but obviously, something had happened.

Because Zoë Lester was pregnant with his child.

He had no idea where to go or what to do. He and Victoire had moved in together when Guy and Persis had decided to do the same. There would always be room for him on Guy and Persis' couch, but they were holidaying in Spain just now.

Victoire had made it quite plain that, as far as she was concerned, there was no room for negotiation. No way they could make it work. She never wanted to see him again.

Which meant that, effectively, he had lost his family too, he realised painfully. He had to respect what she wanted, and anyway, he didn't think he could sit across the table from her at family gatherings and behave normally. That would be unbearable. So he had to cut himself off. They were Victoire's _real _family. He was just an extra.

It had been a long time since he had had thoughts like that. It had bothered him, once. That he did not _really_ belong. He had no real family, except for Gran (and Gran's family, of course, but they had never taken much notice of him). That had been one of the reasons why, as a child, he had resented Victoire. As a baby, he had been everybody's pet. The little orphan boy with hair that changed colour according to his mood, who had lost both his parents and needed somebody to care for him. Everybody had wanted a share of him.

And then, when he was two, Victoire had come along, and suddenly he was displaced in the family. He knew now that it had just been the experience of a child replaced by a younger sibling; he had no longer been the baby.

But for a while, in his teenage years, he had believed that Victoire had replaced him in the family's affections because she was really related to them, and he was not. Teddy had been born under a cloud; in the middle of a terrible war. His parents had died when he was only a few months old, and seeing him must always remind people of that. Teddy Lupin was a child born in darkness.

Victoire Weasley, though, was the child of peace; the child of triumph. Even her name celebrated their victory. She was the new hope when the darkness was over.

As he grew up, he had realised that such thoughts were nonsense. They saw him as real family, and they loved him as such.

Now, he had to acknowledge that they were not complete nonsense after all. It _did_ make a difference. Because, when it came down to it, Victoire had a place in the family forever. And he had sacrificed his in one night of stupidity and loss of control.

Zoë Lester was having his child.

His life was over.

For a few minutes after he left, she stood and stared at the door he had walked out of.

So this was it. It was over. She had known that it was over from the moment Zoë Lester's sister had dropped her bombshell.

But now he was finally gone, and it felt as though her life had just shattered around her, and she was scared to move, for fear of treading on the sharp shards.

He had said that he loved her. But it was too late. Love was not enough any more.

Zoë Lester was having his child.

She had told him to get out, in no uncertain terms. She had stood in the doorway as he grabbed a bag of his things, and she had refused to look at him as he said goodbye, his voice broken.

And now all she wanted was for him to walk back in again, and tell her that this was not happening after all.

What had happened to them? How had it ended like this? This was not how it was supposed to be.

She could not help remembering the good times. Their first kiss (she did not count the ones by the Portrait Hole), down by the lake at the very end of his seventh year, with wind in their hair and spots of rain blowing in their faces. It had felt right; very right. Much better than any of the other boys she had kissed. She did not have to pretend with Teddy.

Their first real 'date' in the pub in Hogsmeade; the happy, bubbling feeling it had given her inside, and the soaring elation she had known following the conversatin with Tamsyn after that day.

The day they had first allowed the family to see that they were together, after James' revlation at King's Cross (Teddy had been annoyed with Jamie, but Victoire had never loved her little cousin as much as she had then, despite the teasing she got from him). For the first time, they didn't have to be secretive; they could hold each other's hands openly, and Victoire was so happy that none of the knowing smiles the adults wore, or the vomiting noises James and Louis made, could bother her.

The first time they had had sex, in Teddy's new flat that he shared with Guy. Victoire had been in her seventh year, and she had been a virgin, despite the harsh suggestions Teddy had made when she was going out with Venables. And it had been perfect, despite the slight pain, and they had spent the whole night together and woken up beside each other next morning, with the sun streaming through the curtains. That day, Victoire had known that what she felt for Teddy was forever; that whatever happened, there could never be anybody else.

That was still true, which meant that now there could be nobody. Because there was no going back from this.

And Victoire wasn't the cool career woman any more; she wasn't the efficient Ministry Official; she wasn't the poised young woman. She was twenty years old, and not much more than a child, and she wanted her mother.

It had been a long time since she had run to her mother to have everything made better. She had always had an independent streak, which her parents had encouraged, and she had been keen to stand on her own feet; to leave home and make her own life; an adult life.

But if there was one thing all Weasley children knew they could always count on, it was family.

Ten minutes later, after a slightly botched apparition that had landed her at the foot of the hill instead of at the door, Victoire stumbled into Shell Cottage, the house she had grown up in, and collapsed into Fleur Weasley's arms.

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry Potter jumped at the sound of his name, and swung round to find the face of his oldest brother in law in the fireplace.

"Bill!" he started to smile, saw the expression on the older man's face and stopped, "What's the matter?"

"Have you seen Teddy?" Bill Weasley said abruptly.

Harry frowned.

"No, not that recently. Why?"

It was true; he did not see his godson very much any more. Not for want of trying; he kept suggesting that Teddy came round for lunch, the way he always used to, but it seemed that his godson kept a very busy schedule these days. It wasn't really so suprising, Harry always told himself; after all, Teddy was twenty two. He had friends and work, and visiting the godparents was unlikely to be very high on his list of prioritites.

But something in Bill's voice told him that all was not well.

"What's the matter?" he repeated, when Bill did not immediatey reply, his voice sharpening slightly with concern.

"Mind if I come over?" Bill asked, instead of answering the question, "I think you need to know about this."

"Of course not," Harry said, mystified, stepping back from the fire. The next minute, it glowed green and Bill Weasley stepped over the hearth. He looked around, and gazed doubtfully at the child on the sofa, who apparently had her nose buried in a book.

"Lily, out," said Harry firmly. The red-haired girl looked up, wide eyed.

"What?" she asked, as innocently as possible, but she was unconvincing, and her father was not fooled.

"Out," he repeated, "Uncle Bill and I have to talk."

She looked from one to the other.

"What's happened to Teddy?"

"Lily..." said her father warningly, and she sighed theatrically, shut the book, heaved herself off the sofa, and left as slowly as possible, dragging her feet.

Harry listened as her footsteps went up the stairs, and her bedroom door opened and closed with a bang. Then he looked at Bill.

"What's going on?"

* * *

Neither of them heard the bedroom door open again very quietly, and nobody saw the strange flesh coloured object descend slowly from the top of the stairs.

Some weeks previously, Lily's brother James had, as a result of a dare from their cousin Louis, Uncle Bill's own son and Victoire's brother, ended up in St Mungo' after swallowing a piece of their Uncle George's famous exploding chewing gum. This incident had ended with a complete ban on free gifts from Weasley's Wizard Weezes for all the children of the family (Lily personally did not care much, but their cousin Rose, who had initially found the incident hilarious, was furious, and was still not speaking to either James or Louis over the matter). A pair of extendable ears, however, had somehow managed to stay hidden in Lily's underwear drawer, and she was prepared to make full use of them.

"... took us about an hour to find out what was wrong," were the first words she heard from Uncle Bill, and his voice was angry, "And then she tells us... Merlin Harry, I'm going to kill that boy when I get hold of him, and you know as well as anyone that I don't get angry easily. But when it comes to something like this... that's my daughter sobbing her heart out on her mother's shoulder, and what he's done... well, it's unforgiveable. I've known Teddy all his life, and I thought he was better than that. Bloody hell, I was _pleased _when he and Victoire got together..."

"But what's he _done_?" Lily's father's voice cut in, sounding completely confused.

"He's only gone and got some other girl pregnant," said Uncle Bill heavily. There was a shocked silence downstairs.

"He's... _what_?" Harry said in the end, his voice strained, "_Teddy_? I... I just can't believe it, Bill... He and Victoire..."

"Have been on and off from the beginning; you know that. I've been worried about it for a while, you know. I don't know everything, because Vic doesn't tell us much, but I can read between the lines. A good relationship's one that makes you happy, and she hasn't been happy recently. I haven't said anything, because I reckon they're old enough to sort things out for themselves, and I should think it's as much her as him; but this is the last straw, I swear it is..."

"Who is she? The other girl?" Harry said, his voice dull.

"Some kid called Zoe something. Worked with him on that dragon project, Victoire said. Lives off Diagon Alley with her sister, just down from the road from George and Angelina. I don't know much about her; to be honest, we haven't had much coherent from Vic. Merlin, Harry, I haven't seen her this upset since she was a little kid. When I get my hands on Teddy Lupin..."

"Yes, well..." Harry frowned heavily, "First we've got to find him, which might be easier said than done. If I know Teddy, he's going to be pretty upset himself, but he hasn't come here. You could try Andromeda, but I doubt if the first thing he'd do in this situation would be run to his grandmother... and I don't want to worry her; she isn't well. On second thoughts, Bill, you should probably go back to Fleur and Victoire, and I'll see if I can locate Teddy. The first thing we have to do is find out whether this crazy story's true, because I honestly can't believe it of him..."

Lily had heard enough. Stunned, she sat back on her heels, and let the information sink in. Teddy. _Her_ Teddy, for that was how she thought of him. Teddy, who was like a better version of a big brother; who, unlike her real brothers, always had time for her, and never got annoyed when he had to repeat what he said three times because Lily was in a daydream. Teddy, who always brought her funny little presents he had 'picked up' from somewhere or other, and made her laugh when she was miserable, and forced James and Albus to let her play Quidditch with them.

Lily was twelve years old, and had enough of a grasp of such matters to understand what Teddy was being accused of. That did not mean she believed it. A frown very like her father's came over her face as she thought of it. Teddy, _her_ Teddy, having a baby? With some awful girl who wasn't Victoire? That was't how it was supposed to be. Of the whole family, Lily had probably been the happiest when Teddy and Victoire got together. She had imagined a beautiful wedding with flowers and a white dress (and hopefully herself as bridesmaid) and happy-ever-afters.

Not this.

And now Teddy was out there somewhere, desparately upset and alone. Whatever he had done - and Lily didn't believe it anyway - that thought was unbearable. The sudden terrible thought occurred to her that perhaps if he was upset enough, he might actually kill himself. People did kill themselves for things like this, she knew that.

The question was, what could she do about it?

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Please tell me I still have readers for this story! The review button is right there vv :-)**


	8. Falling Rain

**Disclaimer: I've forgotten to disclaim recently, and I don't really know how necessary it is (who actually reads these?) but anyway: for this chapter, and any others I forgot, none of this world, and very few of the characters, belong to me...**

**A/N: This is a shortish one, but I thought Ihadn't updated for a while, and you'd rather have a short one than nothing at all. I'm not sure you'll find this one very satisfying though...**

**Anyway, thanks to anavihs, ms wolf (whose name fanfic will never let me put the dot in) and Lily Ann Rose for leaving reviews and letting me know that I still have readers for this story. Anyone else still out there?**

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd been there. He didn't know where else to go. He could not go to the closest thing he had to family, because they were Victoire's family. He could not go to the place where he had grown up, because there was no way he could tell his grandmother about this. It would break her heart, and it had already been broken several times in her life before. The thought that he, Teddy, her pride and joy, might be the cause of more pain for her was unbearable.

So he stayed where he was.

At some point, it started to rain, but he didn't register it until it soaked through his jacket, and by then, he wasn't sure how long ago it had started.

It was cold, but it hardly seemed to matter. All that mattered was Victoire, and his mind was filled with the memories of her; her scent, her laugh, her touch, her kiss, the feel of her hair. And the white, broken face and agonised eyes that had ordered him to leave.

He put his head in his hands, and the rain dripped down the back of his collar.

Time passed, and it could have been minutes or hours.

Then a voice said, "Teddy," and it was a familiar voice.

His head felt strangely heavy, and it was an effort to lift it, but after a moment, he managed it, and saw first a pair of feet in shoes unsuitable for the weather, and a pair of trousered legs. He looked a bit further up, and found his godfather standing in front of him, holding an umbrella that was trying to blow away in the wind, rain drops flecking his glasses and his hair untidy.

"Teddy," said Harry again, and his voice was so kind that Teddy almost lost it; didn't his godfather know what he had done?

"Teddy, come on. Come home."

They had found him, and brought him back. That was a relief anyway, but the expression she had seen on his face in the brief glimpse she had had, had not reassured her at all.

She refused to believe it. There had to be a mistake. Teddy, _her_ Teddy, would not do a thing like that. Why wasn't he telling them? Why wasn't he protesting his innocence?

She hung around in the hallway, disregarded, as frantic conversations went on, from which she was excluded. There was shouting, mostly from Uncle Bill, and more reasonable tones from her parents. Odd words and phrases came through closed doors… "Zoë Lester"… "Victoire"…"the baby"… "When…?" … "How…?"… and her father's voice, raised slightly in frustration and confusion, "What were you _thinking_, Teddy?"

But of Teddy's voice, she heard nothing at all.

A little later, James Potter clattered into the hall and slammed the front door behind him. There were voices coming from the living room, and he made for the door, but his mother emerged from the kitchen before he reached it.

"Don't go in there, Jamie."

"Why not?" he stopped, staring at her.

"Your dad's talking to Teddy in there. And they don't need you rushing in."

James frowned.

"What's happened?"

"Nothing you need to know about," Ginny told him firmly, "Go and change your clothes, you're soaked. Didn't you have a coat with you? No, don't even answer that; you obviously didn't. Go and change, and tell Lily that dinner's almost ready. She's upstairs. Al's eating at the Llewellyns' tonight."

"Shall I tell Dad and Teddy too?" James asked hopefully.

"No, I'll tell them myself, but I shouldn't think they'll eat with us. And take your shoes off before you go upstairs; they're covered in mud."

He went upstairs, burning with curiosity, and more than a little annoyed. James disliked secrets unless they were his own. And it wasn't as if he was a little kid any more. You'd have thought they would be able to tell _him_, even if they wouldn't tell Lily. But maybe, having been in the house all afternoon, his little sister would know something anyway.

"Hey, Lil!" he called, paused in the doorway of his own room.

There was no reply. He turned and made his way down the hall to her door, leaving wet footprints along the carpet; his shoes had not been waterproof, and his socks were waterlogged.

He banged on the door with a fist.

"Hey, Lily!"

There was still no reply, so he opened the door. The room was empty. He stood and looked at it for a moment. His mother had definitely said that his sister was upstairs.

He padded back down the hall, and tried the bathroom door. It was unlocked, and there was nobody inside. There was no reason at all for her to be in his parents' room, or in Albus', but he checked anyway, and then, just to be sure, in the spare room.

Lily was not upstairs.

And she couldn't be downstairs either, unless she was in the study, because the only other two options were the kitchen, where his mother was, and the living room, where his father was. And she couldn't be outside, because Lily hated the rain.

"Mum!" he yelled over the banister, "She's not here!"

Zoë Lester. She knew it wouldn't be hard to find her, because she had heard Uncle Bill say she lived off Diagon Alley. The area immediately surrounding Diagon Alley was, unlike Barnstaple, where the Potters lived, an exclusively Wizarding area. That meant that all the people who lived and worked there tended to know each other.

She knew how to get there, too. Her parents had always told her, "If you ever find yourself stuck somewhere, stick your wand arm into the road. The Knight Bus'll take you anywhere you want to go…"

Lily was pretty sure that this wasn't the sort of situation they had had in mind, but it got her to Diagon Alley all right.

She slipped through the Leaky Cauldron with her hood up, keeping people between her and the bar, because Aunt Hannah was there, and would be certain to stop her, and want to know why she was there without her parents.

It was starting to get dark, and it was very cold and wet, and for a moment, as she emerged into Diagon Alley, she hesitated, wondering whether she was doing the right thing. But then she thought of the expression on Teddy's face as he came in with her father, and of her cousin Victoire, crying on Aunt Fleur's shoulder, and she gritted her teeth, and set off along the street.

"Just down the road from George and Angelina," Uncle Bill had said, so Lily turned down the road on which her uncle and aunt lived. The lights were on in their house, which was comforting. She could always go and knock at the door. Not that she intended to do that, because they would only send her home.

Feeling increasingly wet (the rain had faded to a persistent drizzle, but it still made you wet, she thought miserably, as a gust of wind blew it into her face), she wandered down the road. It had seemed like a simple idea; she would just ask someone where Zoë Lester lived. But the shops were closed (this wasn't a shopping street, anyway), and it was a foul night, and there was hardly anyone about. She had no gloves on, and her fingers were wet and freezing, and her hair was escaping from its pigtails and from under her hood, and was blowing everywhere.

Finally, to her relief, an elderly woman appeared round the corner. She stepped up to her, summoning her most winning smile.

"Excuse me. Could you tell me where Zoë Lester lives?"

The woman frowned at the pretty red-haired child.

"Yes, she's at Number 84. Are you all right, dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Lily tried to smile in as grown-up way as possible, "Thank you very much."

And the woman continued on her way, with a puzzled glance over her shoulder. But the child was not looking at her; she was walking resolutely up to Number 84.

Her resolution failed as she approached the door. It was on the other side of the road, and she hesitated. The old woman had disappeared, and the lights from Uncle George's house were far away, at the other end of the street. They would probably be having dinner there, and Lily suddenly realised that she was hungry. All she would have to do would be go back up the road, knock at the door, and she would be back in the warm, and they would probably be asking her to stay for dinner, and she could be laughing and talking with Fred and Roxy. Because now that she was here, she realised she didn't know what she had come to do.

She could just ring the doorbell. But then what? Zoë Lester was years older than her; how did you begin to ask the questions she wanted to ask? What _were_ the questions she wanted to ask?

In the end, she did not ring the doorbell.

As she dithered on the other side of the road, the door of Number 84 opened, and a young woman emerged. The light in the hall went out, leaving the house in darkness, and the young woman came down the steps and into the light of the street lamp at the bottom of them.

It was Zoë Lester. It had to be. She had shortish brown hair, and a pretty, friendly face and freckles, and the bag she carried bore the logo of the Dragon Protection Society.

And she was pregnant.

Not heavily so, but the bulge was obvious, for she was otherwise very thin.

It was true. There was no mistake. Zoë Lester was pregnant with Teddy's baby.

Lily had expected to be happy and excited when Teddy Lupin had children; he was almost like her brother, so they would be practically her nephews and nieces. She had not expected it to be like this. Teddy was one of the rocks in Lily's world, and it felt suddenly as though the rock had been taken away, and she was drowning. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the tears starting.

_Teddy_. How could he have done it? It wasn't possible, and yet she had just seen the evidence. It was true; it must be. Teddy had betrayed Victoire, and a part of Lily's world had crumpled.

And Zoë Lester walked on up the street, and out of sight, never seeing the small girl in the grey coat standing on the opposite pavement.


	9. The End of the Story

**Disclaimer: You know the drill by now. I don't own anything that comes from JKR's world.**

**A/N: Yes, I know I only updated last night, but here's another one. And yes, I wrote this all today. Hadn't even started it when I posted the last chapter. I'm quite proud of myself :-)**

**Thanks to ms wolf, tecumseh dean and Lily Ann Rose for continuing to review. If any of you didn't review because I didn't give you time between updates, feel free to review twice ;-). **

**There's lots happening in this chapter, and some of it's quite horrible - I had some trouble writing it, for reasons I'll explain at the end. But at least one reviewer is getting exactly what they asked for in this chapter! So I hope you like it!**

* * *

It was like a nightmare that you did not wake up from. Victoire had gone back to her flat, but it was full of memories of him, even after she had Banished the rest of his things, unable to bring herself to pick them up and do anything else with them. She wasn't sure exactly where she'd sent them, but it didn't seem to matter. He clearly wasn't coming back for them.

She regretted it afterwards, because then there was nothing physical to remind her of him, and he might as well never have lived in the flat at all. But it was better that way, she told herself. She didn't need reminders. She needed to forget.

Which was easier said than done. She did not take any time off from work, despite pressure from her parents and friends. She needed the distraction. But she wasn't working as well as she had before, and her boss noticed. A week after the break up, he called her into the office.

"Look, Victoire," he said, sounding worried, "I know you're having a rough time at the moment. And I understand, I really do. But we can't let the work here suffer. You're one of the best we've got, and don't think I'm not fully aware of that. I've had no complaints before. But it's a busy time, and we need everybody pulling their weight. If you need it, I can give you some time off to get your head sorted. But you _have _to get it sorted, one way or another…"

She didn't want time off, and she told him that. She was fine; she knew she had been a mess for the last week, but she was over it. She would pull herself together. He was dubious, but agreed to give her a chance. And Victoire knew that her job depended on it; the job she had worked so hard for, and sacrificed so much for.

So, on the surface, she pulled herself together. When she was at work, she thought about nothing but work, and threw herself into it more than ever. At home, it was not so easy. But she had to put on a brave face. What she did not want was people's pity. So she kept the mask up, and most people were fooled.

Some said admiringly that Victoire was dealing with it very well. Others were heard to say that this was just the cold, unfeeling way they would have expected her to take it.

Inside, she was bleeding.

Her parents were worried about her, and so, apparently, was Tamsyn; at any rate, the other girl took every opportunity to drop round and check up on her. Victoire did not feel that she could let the mask down, though, even for Tamsyn. This was too close and personal to share, even with her best friend. So she smiled in a brittle way, and said yes, she was fine, and steered the conversation away from Teddy, pretending not to see Tamsyn's anxious frown. Tamsyn, seeing that she did not want to talk about it, left the subject alone, and tried to cheer her up by talking of other things.

Her sister was less tactful.

"You're not okay, Vic," Dominique said abruptly, "Anyone who knows you can see you're not okay. How could you be? You were crazy about him, and he cheated on you. You can't just pretend it never happened."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Victoire said harshly, "I have to go on with my life, don't I?"

Her sister looked helplessly at her.

"Have you even talked to him?"

"No. Why would I talk to him? I've got nothing else to say. He's got Zoë now."

Dominique was not one to give up, but she was back at school the following week, and so Victoire didn't have to talk to her.

* * *

In the end, Teddy sent Zoë a letter. He knew he didn't want to be with her; ironic, after he had been so tempted by her, but the idea of touching her now made him feel physically sick. The idea of being with _anyone_ but Victoire made him feel sick.

But neither could he simply abandon her; after all, she was his own age, and with her life in front of her. As far as he knew, she hadn't wanted children now, any more than he had. But she was stuck with this situation, and it was his fault. He had to take his share of the responsibility.

So he wrote to her. It wasn't an easy task. He discarded several attempts before finally sending one. It was short and to the point.

"Dear Zoë," it said, "I heard about the baby. I'm sorry. I don't know if you were planning on telling me, but just so you know, I'll help any way I can. It's my baby too, and I'm not going to walk away from that. If you want to talk to me, we can meet somewhere. Just let me know."

They met in a Muggle coffee shop in Soho. It was neutral ground, and there was little chance of them seeing anyone they knew.

She was pale, with shadows under her eyes, and looked as if she had been crying recently. The weather had suddenly warmed up as it moved towards May, and she wore only a cardigan over her top. The bump was beginning to be obvious on her slight frame.

For some people, pregnancy gave them a healthy glow. Not so Zoë. Apart from the bump, he thought that she was thinner than he remembered her, and she had had no spare weight to lose then. That could not be healthy, given that she was feeding two people. The short hair that had been cut choppily around her face and had suited her so well had been allowed to grow so that it straggled limply around her neck. The main thing, though, was the desperate unhappiness in her eyes.

He knew he wasn't exactly the picture of health and happiness himself. Between them, they must make a right sight for the Muggles coming and going around them, he thought fleetingly.

They ordered drinks; he had coffee, but she had asked for a blackcurrant tea.

"The healer said I should avoid caffeine," she said flatly, as an explanation, although he hadn't asked.

She was looking at the table, and could not meet his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked abruptly.

She looked up.

"Because… you'd told me… you wanted to be with Victoire. You were happy with her. I couldn't do that to you. There was no need for both our lives to be ruined."

"But you told other people," he pointed out, "You must have known I'd hear eventually."

"I told my _sister_. I never expected her to… well. She told me she'd seen Victoire. I felt awful."

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other. There was part of him that had, if he was completely honest with himself, been angry with Zoë. If she had not been there; if she had not flirted with him… if she had never existed, then none of this would ever have happened.

That melted away as he looked at her white, miserable face, and he felt only guilt and regret.

"There's no need for _you_ to feel awful," he told her, "It's my own bloody fault. It should never have happened, Zoë…"

"I know," she said quickly, "I know that, Teddy. And if you and Victoire… well, I'm not going to get in the way."

"Victoire doesn't want anything to do with me," Teddy said quietly.

"Oh."

"Can you blame her?"

"I suppose not," Zoë admitted, "I'm sorry, Teddy."

"It's not your fault," he said again.

"It is…" she began, and then broke off.

Again, there was a silence. He looked at the bulge showing under her t-shirt.

"When's it due?"

"September."

"Do you remember it?" he asked suddenly. It wasn't a nice thing to have to ask, but they had to talk about it.

She hesitated.

"Not really," she said at last, in a small voice.

Well, that was a tiny bit of a relief. At least it wasn't just him for whom that night was a blank.

"Probably better that way," she said, with a small, humourless laugh, "I mean, it's never going to happen again, is it?"

"I doubt it," he said honestly.

"What did you mean?" she asked, "When you said you weren't going to walk away? You don't want to be with me, you've made that clear…"

"I'm sorry," he said wretchedly, "I mean… you're a lovely girl, Zoë…"

"Yeah, I get the picture," she said wryly, "It's not going to happen. Don't worry, Teddy. I resigned myself to that back in December. But what _did_ you mean?"

"Well… exactly that. I'm not going pretend I was really ready to be a dad. But I'm _going_ to be, and I've got as much responsibility for this baby as you. I'm not going to ignore that. We can work something out…"

A strange expression flickered across her face. It was partly relief, but partly something else he couldn't place. She looked as though she was thinking about saying something, but then changed her mind, and simply nodded instead.

"Right. Well… thanks, Teddy. I appreciate that. And… I want it to have a dad, I really do."

They parted soon after that, Teddy promising to stay in touch. Zoë said that she would let him know next time she had an appointment with the healers, in case he wanted to come.

"Yeah," he agreed, "Yeah… maybe I will. Take care of yourself, Zoë."

She smiled sadly.

"You too. See you, Teddy."

* * *

He had eventually gone back to his grandmother's house, where he had grown up. He would have been welcome at the Potters', but there were too many Weasleys, including members of Victoire's family, coming and going there.

He had told his grandmother only that he and Victoire had broken up. His godfather had told him that he would have to tell her the whole story sooner or later, but for now, he was putting it off. So Andromeda Tonks knew that Teddy was deeply unhappy and worried, but she did not, as yet, know that she was to be a great-grandmother.

Teddy, knowing that sooner or later he would have to help support a child, had made an effort, and gone out and found a job. True, it was the same kind of job he had been doing since he had left school, working in a bar, but at least he was earning. And getting out of the house, which was a relief to those who loved him, because the rest of the time, he simply hid himself in his room and would not talk to anyone. Guy and Persis, back from Spain, did their best, but Teddy, for the moment, was beyond being cheered up.

So he was at his grandmother's house when the owl reached him, carrying an urgent letter in an unfamiliar handwriting.

"Emergency, " it read, "Zoë in St Mungo's. She wants you there. Melanie Lester."

Melanie Lester, Teddy knew, was Zoë Lester's sister. She had been a couple of years ahead of him at Hogwarts, and a Hufflepuff like her sister, and he had never actually spoken to her.

Suddenly feeling a sense of foreboding, he tossed the letter aside, dashed downstairs to tell his grandmother he was going out, and apparated straight to the hospital.

She had told him that she would let him know when she had another appointment, but she would not have given the task of summoning him to her sister. Neither would she have described a routine check-up as an emergency.

He entered the reception of St Mungo's with apprehension, and a feeling that he was out of place here. What right did he have to rush to Zoë's side like a worried boyfriend? She was hardly even a friend, let alone a girlfriend. An acquaintance. But she was carrying his child, which suddenly made everything that happened to her his business. But it did not stop him feeling as though he were pretending to be something he wasn't. He hesitated, wondering what to say to the woman at reception. But in the end, he didn't have to say anything, because Melanie Lester appeared. She looked exhausted, but she had seen him, and came towards him. He went to meet her.

"What's happened?" he demanded, dispensing with the niceties.

Melanie looked up at him with tired eyes. He knew that she had been angry with him about Zoë, but she didn't seem to have any energy left for hostility. She did not beat about the bush, though, for which he was grateful.

"She's had a miscarriage," she said simply, "The baby's dead. I'm sorry, Teddy."

He stared at her. He ought to be feeling something, he was sure. Hearing that your baby was dead ought to be devastating. But all he was aware of was a ringing in his ears.

Three weeks ago, he had not known that the baby existed, and then, when he had found out, it had felt as though the end of the world had come. It was only in the last fortnight that he had begun to believe that the baby was real, and that he was going to be a father, but he had never been able to enjoy the knowledge as he knew that he should have done. And now the baby was _not _real any more, and he was _not_ going to be a father, and all he could feel was numbness.

Melanie took him upstairs to see Zoë, an ordeal he was not sure he could cope with, but which he knew he had to go through. Their mother was with her, Melanie informed him, but she had been there some time, and Zoë had been demanding to see Teddy. Their father, Teddy knew, had left when Zoë was a baby and had not been heard from since, and Zoë had always spoken of her mother as an overbearing woman who expected a lot from her daughters.

She certainly lived up to this description, Teddy thought, as the woman swept past him, giving him a glare as she passed, but not speaking to him. Melanie, who had gone in ahead of him to inform them that he was here, followed her mother out.

"All right," she said quietly, "You can go in. The healer says she shouldn't be excited too much."

He nodded briefly, and slowly entered the room and approached Zoë's bedside. If she hadn't looked too well last time he had seen her, she looked a hundred times worse now. Entirely lacking in colour, except for the vivid blue bruises under her eyes, she looked, Teddy thought, as though she had been through hell. Which he supposed she had. She had been watching him since he had appeared in the doorway, but her eyes seemed dead.

"Zoë…" he began, not knowing what he was going to say.

"Sorry about Mum," she said, and her voice was hoarse and quiet, "She's angry with you. She's traditional, you know, even after everything with my dad. Maybe even more so because of it. She was a single parent herself, and she didn't want us to go through the same thing. I didn't even tell her for ages, because I knew how upset she'd be. But she's just worried about me…"

Why did she think he cared about her mother? Did she think he might actually have been offended by the offhand treatment he had received?

"Zoë, I'm so sorry," he said, taking the seat her mother had vacated.

"Yeah, well," she turned her head away, and he heard tears in her voice, "One of those things, isn't it?"

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, knowing it was a stupid question. Of course, she was feeling like shit.

"I'm tired," she closed her eyes, and the tears leaked out under her eyelashes, "You know, Teddy, I didn't want that baby. I was devastated when I realised I was pregnant. It was the last thing I wanted. I was miserable, and more than miserable. I was terrified. I don't know anything about being a mother. I didn't _want_ to be a mother. And I didn't want to have to do it all by myself. I saw what Mum went through. Being a single mother's bloody hard. All I've wanted, ever since I found out, is for it to go away and not be true…" Teddy was silent. It was too close to what he had been feeling himself.

"But now," she went on, "Now he's dead, I just want him back again." Her voice broke in a sob, "And I'm so tired, Teddy… tired of everything… tired of lying," her eyes flew open, and he looked into them and finally found something that was recognisably Zoë, even though they were wretched, "I have to tell you, Teddy. I can't keep lying. I… I don't know if the baby was yours," she closed her eyes again and began to cry quietly, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

There was a moment of shocked silence as he took in the news. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"What… what do you mean?" he asked eventually.

"I don't remember that night," she said, without opening her eyes, "And neither do you, do you? We don't know what happened… But I never had any reason to think we had sex. I mean, I woke up in my own bed, and I remembered kissing you, but I assumed that was all that happened…"

"But… who else's could it have been?" he asked, as gently as he could. She was getting agitated, and he was pretty sure she shouldn't, but he had to have answers. He had gone through so many mental adjustments in the last few minutes that he didn't know where he was any more.

"There was a guy," she said, her voice thin and barely audible, "It was a few days afterwards. I was… upset. Because I'd liked you, and you'd just told me you had a girlfriend, and had just been messing around with me. So I had random, meaningless sex with a random, meaningless guy, to try and make myself feel better. I don't even know his name. How pathetic is that? You know, it's the only time in my life I've done that. The only time…"

Teddy felt a little bit like there had been an explosion inside his head.

"But why?" he got out in the end, "Why did you say…?"

"Why did I tell people it was yours?" she opened her eyes again and looked desolately at him, "I didn't. I told you; I only ever told my sister. Because she kept asking me, and I was a complete state. I still wasn't over you, and now I was pregnant on top of it all, and I was scared and lost and I didn't even know the name of the guy I assumed was the father. I couldn't tell her that; I just _couldn't_! I knew she'd judge me, and if my mum found out, she'd be furious.

And I thought of that night, and I knew I didn't remember all of it. And I suddenly thought, it might not be his. It just _might_ be Teddy's. I… I was panicking. I'd been panicking for a week, ever since I knew I was pregnant. And it was better to have a name than admit I didn't know.

So I told her it was yours. I never planned it to go so far. It was only to shut her up. But then she went and told Victoire… And I felt terrible, but it felt like it was too late by then. I couldn't tell you," she sobbed again, "I wanted to. I tried. That day in the coffee shop, I was going to tell you, I swear. But I was too scared. It was easier just to carry on with the lie. I… I _wanted_ it to be yours. Because you said you weren't just going to walk away. So if it was yours, I wouldn't have to do it by myself. I would never have to admit to anyone that I had a one night stand with a stranger. The baby would have a dad. And I _wanted_ that."

She looked unhappily up at him.

"I don't expect you to forgive me. But I hope you can at least understand, a little bit."

He was silent. It was almost too much to take in, but looking down at the desperate, ill, grief-stricken face on the hospital bed, he couldn't even bring himself to feel angry. It was all his own fault anyway. It might be a hideous, sick mistake, but the fact remained; he could not remember what had happened that night. As far as anyone knew, it _could_ have been his. There was no baby any more, but Victoire would still never be able to trust him again.

* * *

In the end, it was Persis who told Victoire. After spending a week trying to persuade Teddy (after she and Guy had finally got the full story from their friend, who had eventually broken down and sobbed it all out) that she should know, Persis decided to take things into her own hands.

Persis also worked at the Ministry, and she had seen Victoire in the past weeks, always looking pale and strained. They had known each other quite well in the old days, and in the past had sometimes eaten lunch together, or chatted in a coffee break. Since the break up with Teddy, though, Persis suspected that the younger girl was avoiding her. Unsurprising really, given that she had been one of Teddy's best friends all the way through school.

But she spotted Victoire's red hair across the canteen one day, and decided to take the bull by the horns. It probably wouldn't make any difference; indeed, Victoire had probably heard at least part of the news by now. But she ought to be told.

Persis crossed the room. Victoire was picking at a salad, while reading through a sheaf of papers, a pen at her hand. It was a table for one, Persis noticed sadly. Victoire had always been popular, with many friends, but these days, she held herself apart.

"Victoire," she said, slightly hesitantly.

Victoire looked up, and a guarded look came down over her face when she saw who it was.

"Hi Persis," she said, stiffly.

"You look busy," Persis commented.

Victoire looked down at the papers.

"Yes, I am a bit. I have to write a response to these this afternoon."

"Right," Persis pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table, "Well, I won't ask you how you are. It's pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that you're feeling as crap as he is."

Victoire opened her mouth, probably to contradict this, but Persis carried on.

"Zoë Lester had a miscarriage, you know."

"Yes, I heard. I was sorry for her. That's a terrible thing to happen," Victoire said tonelessly.

"Did you know she told Teddy the baby might not be his?"

Victoire laughed harshly.

"Oh, really? She didn't seem in any doubt a few weeks ago. So, sorry if I don't really believe that one."

"She told her sister it was his," Persis went on, undaunted, "because she was too ashamed to admit that she'd slept with a stranger. And it was her sister who told you, wasn't it?"

Victoire stared at the older girl.

"Why are you telling me this? I don't care how much of a slag Zoë Lester turned out to be. I'm not the sort of bitch who wants to go and spread dirt on her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. The important thing isn't how many people Zoë Lester slept with; it's how many Teddy did."

Persis was silent for a moment.

"First," she said at last, quietly, "Zoë isn't Teddy's new girlfriend. They're not together, or anything close to it. Second, I never thought you'd want to spread stories about her, because I _know_ you're not that sort of person.

Third, I hadn't finished. Because the point isn't that Zoë slept with someone else; it's that she might _not_ have slept with Teddy, if the baby isn't his."

Victoire laughed again.

"Persis, I think if Teddy _hadn't_ cheated on me, he'd probably have mentioned it when I accused him of getting another girl pregnant. I think he'd also have mentioned it when he was talking to my father and my uncle about what he was going to do about it. He _never_ denied it, not once. The point isn't whether the baby was his or not; it's whether it _could_ have been. And it obviously could, or he'd have said something."

"What would you say if I told you that Teddy was so drunk that night, he can't remember what happened? And that Zoë can't either?"

"Is that what you _are_ telling me?"

"Yes. Honestly, Victoire, I don't think from the sound of it that it ever happened. I don't think Teddy _did_ cheat on you…"

"But we don't know that," for the first time, there was emotion in Victoire's voice, "_That's_ the point, Persis. He didn't deny it, because he couldn't deny it, because he didn't _know_. And the very fact that he thought it was a _possibility_ means I could never take him back. I could never trust him. Can't you see that?"

There was silence for a moment.

"I see what you're saying," Persis said at last, heavily, "And I can see it would be hard. I just think that sometimes, there's room for forgiveness, and for second chances. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yes. But some mistakes are so big that there's no going back. And it isn't a matter of forgiveness. I could _forgive_ him. But I could never trust him again. And I can't be in a relationship without trust."

"So that's it?" Persis said sadly.

"That's it. The end of the story."

* * *

**Don't worry. It isn't really the end of the story - there is more to come!**

**I almost changed this chapter, because I almost couldn't bring myself to write it. I'd had Zoe's miscarriage planned for ages, but then last week someone very close to me actually had one themselves - it made it all feel very personal, and it was very difficult to write, but I realised if I changed it, I'd have to change the whole plot. So I left it in, and I think it was worth it.**

**Anyway, hope you all liked the chapter. Please review!**


	10. Life Goes On

**Disclaimer: It all still belongs to JK Rowling, unfortunately.**

**A/N: Well, I meant to have this up last night, but various things got in the way - mainly the fact that I decided I didn't like the way I had originally planned for it to go, and rethought it all, and the fact that I've not been too well the last few days.**

**Thanks to tecumseh dean, ms wolf, EllenLaura, Lily Ann Rose, and arwenjanelilylyra for the latest lot of reviews. I'm really sorry, I've been very neglectful about replying to them, I'll be better next time, I promise!**

**This is the penultimate chapter. That's right. The next one will be the last. No epilogues. Hopefully up tomorrow, or maybe, if I really get my writing gloves on, later tonight.**

**Anyhow, enjoy!**

* * *

Spring turned into summer, and August was as hot as April had been wet.

Somehow, life, for Victoire, went on. Her job was still as demanding as ever, but she was doing well, and as time went by, the pain caused by Teddy grew less.

She could not help hearing news of him occasionally; he no longer appeared at family gatherings, but Uncle Harry kept in touch with him, and she knew that some of her other relatives did too. Occasionally, his name would be thoughtlessly mentioned in her presence, and there was always an awkward pause that followed, while Victoire tried to pretend that she hadn't noticed.

Lily had gone round looking as though the world had come to an end when she had come home for the summer holidays, and after she got over that, she kept absentmindedly mentioning Teddy while Victoire was there, before someone kicked her, or trod on her foot. It was irritating, but Victoire tried to tell herself that it was nothing more than irritating.

She knew, therefore, that, as Persis had said, Teddy and Zoë were _not _making a go of it. As far as the world was concerned, the baby Zoë had lost was Teddy's, and Victoire suspected that they were still in touch, but they were certainly not a couple. Zoë got a job doing something dragon-related up in the Hebrides, and disappeared from Victoire's horizon.

She knew, too, when Teddy decided that he too had had enough of London, and took off to the Russian Far East as part of a Demiguise tracking expedition. And she was aware that Uncle Harry was relieved about this; he thought it would be good for Teddy. She would have agreed, if she had ever thought about Teddy any more. She even knew when he was departing, because the Potters went to see him off, and Lily cried for a day afterwards.

But with Teddy safely out of the country, Victoire could slowly but surely move on with her life. She wasn't sure if it would ever entirely stop hurting, but after all, the world had not ended because one young man turned out not to be worth the feelings she had spent on him.

So she made the most of the summer, and went to France with her family to visit her Delacour grandparents, and then to Greece with Tamsyn and some of her other friends from school. The Weasley skin was not made for hot sun, so she did not come back with much of a tan, but it felt as though the sun had somehow eased some of the aching wounds. They still hurt, but the poison had gone.

And summer turned into autumn, and October came, with cold winds and grey skies, and she realised that it was almost a year since Teddy had started the Dragon Rehabilitaion Programme on which he had met Zoë Lester.

For the first time, she found that she could think of Teddy. Think of him properly, without her mind exploding with anger and pain, and shutting the thought down of its own accord, like one of the Muggle electric devices Grandad Weasley loved so much, overheating and switching off with a sudden spark and a smell of burning.

She still had feelings for him. She had always known that she could never completely leave those feelings behind, she thought, remembering a certain conversation with Tamsyn, the night after Victoire had been promoted, and there had been that awful argument with Teddy.

Then she remembered how that night had ended, and tears burned in her eyes. It was almost impossible to reconcile the Teddy she remembered from that night, with the Teddy she had created in her head since the terrible conversation with Melanie Lesterback in April. Even the Teddy of earlier in the evening, spitting foul insults at her, was not the one she had held in her mind for the last six months. He had been angry, but he had cared. That was what had _made_ him angry. And they had needed each other; needed each other desperately. The Teddy she had been thinking of recently had not needed her. For a moment, the tiniest needle of doubt entered her mind; who _was_ the Teddy who had been there since April? Was he simply a creation of her mind? Had he needed her after all?

But then she realised that she was being stupid and naïve. On that night in January, when Teddy had bought her white roses, and had seemed to make everything right again, Zoë Lester had already been pregnant.

She was sent on an important diplomatic visit to Paris in November; she was young, and low down in the department to be included on an important trip, but they took her as an interpreter, because she spoke the language. She managed to make herself so useful on the trip that she was given more and more responsibility, and became one of the more influential people in the office.

That Christmas was one of the more difficult Christmases she had experienced. Last year, _he_ had been there. Christmas was a big time for the extended Weasley family. Of course, not everybody could be there every years; some Christmases Victoire's family spent in France with the Delacours, and the others mostly had other branches of the family too, who could not be ignored. But it was always a big gathering, and very often had people who were not strictly part of the family there as well. Teddy and his grandmother always joined them.

This year, Andromeda was there, because they could hardly not invite her, but Teddy was not. He was still in Siberia, apparently, although how they could still track Demiguises in all the snow that must be there right now, Victoire could not imagine. Andromeda knew, of course, that Teddy and Victoire had split up, but she did not know the details, and was inclined to be cold to Victoire. Victoire accepted this as gracefully as she could, and pretended not to care, but in truth it made her want to cry; she was fond of the old woman who had lost her whole family except for Teddy, and had thrown her heart and soul into caring for her orphaned grandson. And Andromeda had liked her, before; had approved of her, because she knew her own mind, and went out and did the things she wanted to do.

But really, if she was honest, what hurt most was simply that Teddy was not there, and the fact that that still hurt made her angry with herself.

Everything about Christmas at the Burrow reminded her of him. Right from the days when he would not allow her to play with his new toys, and got furious with her if she so much as touched a single one of his presents, because he was convinced that she would break it (and she _had_ broken a remarkable number of his toys, she thought wryly), he had always been there. She used to take such trouble over his presents; it took her twice as long to choose his as it did anyone else's, and three times as long to wrap it. He had always received it with the same casual grin, and offhand thanks.

She remembered the days when she and Dominique used to decorate the tree together. They would take such care over getting every decoration in precisely the right place, and they were always so proud when they were finished. And when Teddy came into the room, she would _always_ ask him what he thought of it, even though she knew what the answer would be. And there was always some criticism: "It's a bit bright, isn't it?" "There's too much tinsel." "I like them better without so many decorations on." And every year, without fail, Victoire was reduced to tears over it, and Teddy was told off for not being 'nice.'

Then she remembered the year, the Christmas she was thirteen years old, when it changed. It had been three years since she had had Christmas at the Burrow; the previous two years they had gone to France. And she and Dom had been decorating the tree, and they had not heard Teddy come into the room, and he had stood and watched them for a while before they were aware that he was there.

Probably, her taste had improved in the years between ten and thirteen. She remembered that, for the first time, she had been a bit dismayed by some of the glitzy things Dominique wanted to hang on the tree. She had had to be very firm with her sister, and had insisted on a more minimal, colour co-ordinated effect.

And suddenly, just as they were putting the finishing touches Dom had turned around and said "Teddy!" in tones of surprise. Victoire had almost knocked a bauble off the tree as she spun round. It was Teddy, but she had been going through her tongue-tied phase with him at the time, getting embarrassed as soon as he came anywhere near her, so she had simply stared at him, wishing that she had been found doing something more sophisticated than decorating a Christmas tree with her little sister.

He had grinned at them, a bit sheepishly.

"It looks good," he had told them, and then, looking at their surprised faces, "Honestly, it does. D'you want a hand putting that up?"

Victoire had been stretching to put the star on the top branch, but her arms were not long enough. Wordlessly, she had handed it over and moved out of the way, and he had twisted the little wire around the branch and stood back to admire it.

"Nice," he had said appreciatively.

"Thanks," she had said, shyly, but he had just grinned at her, and wandered out of the room.

She thought that might have been the moment she actually fell in love with Teddy Lupin.

* * *

In January, one of the new wizards in the department asked her if she'd like to go for dinner with him one evening. Victoire hadn't known him before he came to work at the Ministry, because he had been educated abroad somewhere, but she knew that he was a keen young man, who was highly efficient at his job, and dressed in crisp robes, and did everything very quickly. He was also quite good-looking, although his slim build, neat fair hair and blue eyes could not have been more different from the look Teddy usually wore. He had a shrewd, sharp expression in his eyes, but a nice smile, and he was rumoured to be next in line for a quick promotion.

All the same, her first instinct was to refuse. She had expected, after Teddy, that there would never be anyone else; that romance was dead for her. Nobody could replace the man she thought she had known. So she told Christopher Mallory that unfortunately, she was busy with work.

But afterwards, when she thought it through, she realised that she was being irrational. She couldn't spend her life mourning for Teddy. Why shouldn't there be someone else? Christopher was a perfectly nice man, and probably much better suited to her than Teddy ever had been. After all, what had she and Teddy ever had in common? She didn't expect to find love with Christopher Mallory, but there was no harm in the odd date, was there?

So she went up to him the next day, and told him that although she was busy in the evenings, she could manage lunch on Saturday, if that would be all right.

It would be more than all right. His face lit up, and they arranged to meet at half past twelve, in a restaurant Christopher knew, and said was excellent.

Somehow, they got into the habit of regular dates. Christopher was good company; he was clever, and kind, and listened attentively to whatever she said, and they could talk intelligently about things that meant something to both of them.

She did notice, though, after a few weeks, that they always seemed to have very serious conversations. They talked about work, or international affairs (which, after all, _was_ work), or cultural things, like music and art. Of course, she had talked about those things with Teddy too (although, she reminded herself, he had never been very interested in her work), but with Christopher, there were none of those funny, impulsive moments, and they never simply talked nonsense. He was always saying things that made her smile with pleasure, but he never said anything that made her lose her careful poise and dissolve into helpless giggles. And she would feel silly saying to Christopher some of the things she would have said to Teddy.

Also, he insisted on paying for everything every time, which grated on her feminist principles. They did the same job; they were earning exactly the same wage. There was no reason at all for him to pay every time, and it made her feel helpless and childlike, which was irritating. She had always split things with Teddy; indeed, she had often paid for everything herself.

But that was because Teddy never had any money, because he could not be bothered to get a job, she reminded herself. Nobody was perfect, and the little irritations were nothing compared to what she had had to put up with when she was with Teddy. She and Christopher were still feeling their way, that was all. When she knew him a bit better, she would explain how she felt, and he was sure to understand.

They took things slowly. She was perfectly upfront with him, and said that she had recently broken up with a long term boyfriend, and didn't want to rush into anything, and he was very nice about it. But when they had been going out about a month, she finally spent the night with him at his house.

He was, she realised, the only person she had ever had sex with except for Teddy. That was a little sad, really. She tried not to make comparisons, but it was impossible not to. It was… nice, but there wasn't the passion there had always been with Teddy. Still, it was their first time; maybe the passion would come.

It didn't, and she never did get round to having the conversation about money, but other than that, everything was progressing nicely. It was not nearly such a stressful relationship as the one with Teddy had been, and although she was doubtful about it lasting forever, it was perfectly good for the time being.

* * *

Teddy came back to England in March; she knew, because Dominique told her, which made her suspicious that her sister had in fact been keeping in touch with him. She was pleased, though, that his return produced nothing more in her than a faint flicker of dismay. To Dom, she brushed it off.

Dominique looked thoughtfully at her.

"Don't try and pretend you don't care, Vic."

Victoire looked at her in surprise.

"I _don't_ care. Why should I? I've got Chris, and Teddy's probably found some nice Russian girl to console himself with by now…"

"He hasn't," said Dominique brusquely, reinforcing Victoire's impression that Dominique hadn't been quite as loyal as a sister ought to have been.

"Well, he should have done," she answered shortly.

"You're going to have to see him some time," Dominique pointed out, ignoring Victoire's comment.

Vic shrugged.

"So what? It's been nearly a year now. I think we can deal with it"

In the end, though, she did not run into him immediately.

He sent her a letter, but she threw it away without opening it. And then felt stupid, because she'd persuaded herself that the whole thing meant nothing to her anymore, which meant behaving in a grown up, dignified way, not childishly destroying the letters he sent her.

He obviously got the hint, though, because he didn't try again.

* * *

In April, Chris got promoted, putting him a level above her, and Victoire spent her lunch hour in the toilets, trying to persuade herself that she was not jealous.

After work, when she had relieved her feelings slightly by throwing a glass at the opposite wall, she realised that all her persuasion had not worked. She was jealous as hell.

And she had every right to be, she thought furiously. She had been there longer than he had; before Chris had come along, _she_ had been the bright young thing on track for a great career. What did he have that she did not? Angry tears welled up in her eyes, just as she realised that she was reacting no more graciously than Teddy had, more than a year ago, when it was _her _who was getting promotion.

That was different, she told herself. Teddy had not been passed up in favour of her, the way she had for Chris; _that_ was what was getting to her. It was not the same thing.

But a nasty little voice inside her told that it was exactly the same thing. So she pulled herself together, forced a smile onto her face, and went round to see him.

It didn't go quite as she'd planned.

He let her in, looking worried, and greeted her with "Victoire. We need to talk."

She stared at him in blank surprise. She was pretty sure that nothing good had ever followed those words.

"What about?" she asked calmly.

"Well… I'm not sure this is going to work out."

Where had this come from? She had thought things were going pretty well herself.

"It's this job," he explained, "I mean, you know my career's very important to me. I just feel like, with the promotion and everything, I need to be able to concentrate on work, and not have distractions..."

Right. So she was a distraction?

"Well, my career's very important to me too," she pointed out, "I'd have thought we could manage to balance both."

He shook his head.

"You don't understand. I don't want to hang around where I am for my whole life. This promotion's just the first step. I need to be able to throw myself into it, and not think about anything else. My whole future depends on this job. I have to put it first, and that's not fair on you. You have to have someone who's going to put _you_ first. You deserve that, and I can't give it to you. Not just now."

It all sounded very nice and reasonable, she thought, and just a tad too well thought out and rehearsed. She was aware of a mist of anger clouding her mind. Who exactly did he think he was, to speak to her like that? To speak as if he was the only one of them who cared about his work and his future? As if her career was somehow less important than his? How dare he tell her that she did not understand?

She swallowed hard, and kept the anger under control. They had to stay friends. They had to work together.

"Right," she said in a bright, false voice, "Well, that's that then, isn't it? I understand. If you feel like that, there's not much point in it, is there?"

"I'm sorry, Victoire."

"It's all right."

And she was astonished to find that, after the first moments, it was. Shouldn't you feel more upset than this, she thought, as she made her way home, after being dumped? All she felt were residual bits of anger at his cool condescension. They had said goodbye in a perfectly dignified way. It was a clean break. Nothing like the one with Teddy.

Tamsyn echoed this later, when she had come over at Victoire's summons.

"You seem surprisingly okay about it," she commented.

Victoire shrugged.

"You were never really into him, were you?" Tamsyn went on.

"I never thought it would last forever, if that's what you mean."

"Maybe he picked that up," her friend suggested, "Maybe he realised that this didn't mean much to you, and that's why he ditched you."

Victoire thought about this.

"No, I don't think so," she said eventually, "I don't think he ever really knew how I felt. He just decided that he couldn't have anything that might take his concentration away from his work for a few minutes a day. So I had to go." Her voice held traces of bitterness.

Tamsyn looked thoughtfully at her.

"Well… you should be able to understand that, shouldn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Victoire asked sharply.

Tamsyn shrugged.

"Come on, Vic. I don't know anyone as obsessed by work as you…"

"I'm not _obsessed_ by work!" Victoire protested, "Just because my career means a lot to me…"

"Chris would probably say the same thing. Be honest with yourself, Vic. If it's a choice between work, and some other commitment, work always comes first. It always has. You were always going on about how Teddy didn't understand how important it is to you…" she broke off, wondering if, even now, mentioning Teddy was a mistake.

"Don't try and compare this to me and Teddy. Teddy _didn't _understand my work. He didn't understand ambition. I _do._ That's the difference. I could have understood when Chris needed to work, and didn't have time for me. There would have been times when it was the other way round. But he couldn't be bothered to even try. And that wasn't why me and Teddy broke up; you know that."

"Yes, I know. It was different. All I'm saying is that you do have a tendency to let work take over everything, and to think that getting on in your career is the most important thing in the world…"

"Maybe it is, to _me_," Victoire said crossly.

"Is it? More important than your friends and family? More important than love? More important than being happy? Because if so, that's a bit sad, Vic…"

"I didn't mean that. You know I didn't."

But after Tamsyn had gone, she sat for a long time before going to bed, thinking about her friend's words. Was it true? She had to admit that she had given a lot of her energy to her work in the last couple of years. This feeling that she was feeling now; of being somehow sidelined; unimportant; inferior; a distraction from the important things in life; was that how she had made Teddy feel? Had she put her job ahead of her relationship?

She knew that she had. It had seemed to make sense at the time, but now she was looking at it from the other side, it looked shallow and uncaring. A very honest part of herself acknowledged that what had happened between her and Teddy had been, in fact, partly her own fault. She had driven him away; driven him to Zoë Lester.

She sighed. What a mess it had all turned out.


	11. The Important Things

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teddy, Victoire, their families, or the world they live in.**

**A/N: Well, here it is folks. The real end of the story. Thanks to everyone who's read it this far, and especially to all my reviewers. That would be, starting from the beginning : arwenjanelilylyra, Rosewood17, tecumseh dean, Camo Spesh Owl, anavihs, ms wolf, BuddysLilSis, Lily Ann Rose, and EllenLaura. Thank you all, I love you more than you know! And especially arwenjanelilylyra, who as she pointed out to me, has literally been with this one since the very beginning :-)**

**I really hope everyone enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you feel like your life will be devoid without it ;-) then I really hope you'll check out some of my other stories, if you haven't already. All my stories are set in the same universe, so you are likely to come across the Teddy and Victoire of Playing with Fiendfyre in any or all of the others. In fact, my other currently ongoing project, Choices, is about to have a chapter with at least one of them in it so if you want to see them again a few years after the end of this, get reading that one :-)**

**Enjoy! It may be over, but there will still be brownies for anyone who leaves a last (or first!) review!**

* * *

He tried to write to her. He even sent a letter, once. It didn't ask for another chance; he knew it was too late for that. But he found that he couldn't bear the thought of simply never seeing her again; of her not being part of his life. Victoire had _always_ been there. It would hurt like hell to see her and not be with her, but it would surely be better than not seeing her at all. He had gone without seeing her for… Merlin, it was nearly a year now.

He had accepted the place on the team going to Russia in order to escape, and to a certain degree, it had worked. The work had not been the most interesting (they had not, in the end, seen any Demiguises; the closest they had got was a set of three-day-old footprints in the snow) and the weather, over the winter, had been icy. But the country had been fantastic, and beautiful. The snow in Siberia was not the kind of snow they got in England, that was a couple of inches thick if you were lucky, and lay for a few days at the most, before turning to dripping wet slush. This snow fell feet deep, and stayed that way all winter, the temperatures so cold that it was powder-dry, not even melting when it came into contact with your boots and clothes. With a few warming spells, you did not even feel the cold, and Teddy had learned to love the land that, to many people, was synonymous with bleak exile.

But even so far away, in a country of glittering white, he could not forget the girl with hair the colour of flame. Victoire would have loved it there. She had always loved the snow.

And when he had got back, he had wanted to see her; not to try and get her back, because that was impossible. Not even to be friends, because he had probably hurt her too much for that too. But just… to see her again.

She had not replied to his letter, and he could not be surprised. He had not sent another, but it hadn't stopped him writing them. Stupid. He wouldn't send them; any of them, he thought, as he looked at the numerous attempts he had discarded on his bedroom floor. He didn't know what he was even doing it for. But he somehow couldn't stop himself trying. Trying to get the words he wanted to say down on paper, even if they would never be sent. But he couldn't even do that. He couldn't find the right words, and every attempt sounded more ridiculous than the last.

He pushed quill and paper away from himself, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was being stupid. His eye fell on his broomstick, propped up behind his door, and looking a bit dusty. He hadn't flown it for ages; it had been one of the remnants of his childhood that had been left behind here when he moved out, first to the flat he and Guy had shared, and then in with Victoire. He had enjoyed flying once, but it wasn't very practical, living in the city. Apparating was much quicker anyway, and it was too difficult to fly without Muggles seeing. But maybe a quick flight was what he needed to clear his head.

Liking the idea, he stood up, picked up his broom, and headed downstairs. His grandmother was out, which was a slight relief. He had finally told her, when he returned from Siberia, the whole shameful story of Zoë and the baby. She had been deeply upset, and worse, bitterly disappointed in him. So it was a relief to be able to slip out of the house without seeing her sad eyes fixed on him, wondering what she had managed to do wrong.

The baby had not been his. He knew that now, but he doubted it would make any difference to Victoire. Persis had reported the conversation in the Ministry canteen, and none of it had surprised him. Whether it _had_ been his baby was irrelevant; it was the fact that he had believed that it was a possibility that had settled it for her.

All the same, part of him wished he could tell her; part of him dared to hope that maybe, if she knew that it could _not_ have been his, because he had never had sex with Zoë at all, she might think he was worth another chance. He had been drunk that night; drunk enough to forget what had happened, but not drunk enough to cheat on Victoire. He knew, because he had finally done the obvious and talked to some of the other people who had been there that night. Most of them had been as far gone as he was, but at least two of the girls remembered enough to know that he and Zoë had not gone home together, because they had taken Zoë home themselves, leaving him practically comatose in the bar.

He had kept that knowledge quiet; he owed that much to Zoë. It had come as an immense relief to him personally, because it had lessened his own disgust with himself, but he didn't need to broadcast it. The only person he really wanted to know was Victoire, but he could not tell her. If she had replied to his first letter, maybe he would have done. But she had made it clear that there was no room for discussion. Anyway, according to Dominique, who kept him well-informed without his ever having to ask, she was going out with some rising young star at the Ministry.

He left the house and headed out into the fresh spring evening, wishing he had never come back from Russia.

* * *

They had been to Diagon Alley, because although it was only the Easter holidays, Lily had outgrown her shoes, so Ginny had taken her shopping. Harry had met them there, because he had had a transaction to make at Gringotts, and then, just as they had been going home, he had said:

"You go ahead of me. I want to call in at Andromeda's. There's something I wanted to say to Teddy."

"Oh!" Lily's face had lit up, "Can I come?"

Harry and Ginny had looked at each other.

"I don't see why not," Harry had said at last, "Why don't you both come? If they're in, Andromeda'll be pleased to see you."

Ginny had hesitated.

"James and Al…"

"Are sixteen and fifteen respectively. They're old enough to manage by themselves for a few hours, Gin."

And so they found themselves outside the front gate of Andromeda Tonks' home, at almost exactly the same time Andromeda arrived home herself. She was indeed pleased to see them, and invited them in for tea.

"And I daresay there's some cake somewhere, if anyone wants it," she smiled at Lily.

"I was hoping to see Teddy," Harry explained, once they were inside.

"And I was hoping to see you," Andromeda was looking worried, "There was something I wanted to ask you. I'm not sure if Teddy's in. Lily, why don't you go upstairs and find out?"

Lily was perfectly aware that she was being got out of the way, presumably so that Aunt Andromeda could talk about Teddy with her parents. They still thought that she didn't really know much about what had happened, but as usual, people's assumptions that Lily was generally in her own world meant that she knew far more than they thought. Aunt Andromeda was probably worried, just like her parents, because going to Russia had not cured Teddy of his depression, as they had hoped it would. Personally, Lily was not surprised. She was quite sure the depression would last until he and Victoire got back together. The possibility that they might not was one that Lily did not allow herself to think.

She went upstairs. Teddy's door was ajar, and she knocked lightly. It swung open of its own accord, and Lily stared at the room it revealed. Teddy was not inside, but the floor was littered with crumpled pieces of paper.

Without thinking, Lily picked one up hat was lying at her feet, and glanced at it. The name at the top caught her eye immediately. She bit her lip. She should not read Teddy's letters, it was beyond rude… but curiosity overcame her scruples. And there were more important things than good etiquette. She picked up another. And another. Yes, they were all the same. No, not the same. Each one was different, and some seemed complete, while others hadn't got beyond a single line. But they were all addressed to the same person. And it was quite clear that none were going to be sent. He had dated them all at the top, and some were weeks old…

"Lily!" a voice called from downstairs, "What are you doing? Is Teddy there?"

"No, he's not here," she called hastily, "I'm just coming."

And she turned and pulled the door to the same point it had been at before she knocked, and headed downstairs, shoving a piece of parchment in her pocket as she went.

* * *

The letter did not come by owl. It was shoved through the letter box, and she didn't find it straight away, because when she opened the front door, it pushed the parchment backwards and into the corner, and the first thing she did was drop her coat over the back of a chair and head for the shower.

It was not until she came out of the shower and, dressed but still barefoot and with wet hair, went to hang her coat on the back of the door that she noticed, and she did not immediately recognise it as a letter.

It was not in an envelope. It was just a slightly crumpled loose piece of parchment, folded in four, and with no writing on the outside. Puzzled, she unfolded it, and instantly knew the handwriting.

Her first instinct was to toss it in the bin, and that was what she did.

Ten minutes later, curiosity made her fish it out again.

Why was he writing to her in such a strange way? Why had it been pushed through her door without an envelope, in such a casual way? What could possibly be written in such a letter.

Her puzzlement grew as she looked at it, not reading at first.

It was not finished. He had not signed it at the end, and it broke off in the middle of a sentence.

She went up to the beginning again, and began to read.

* * *

Once a week, on Thursday evenings, Andromeda Tonks went for dinner with a very old friend of hers; the only one of her school friends to have stuck by her when she had married Ted Tonks and been banished from her family. It was a routine that they had settled into many years ago, and except for the odd occasion when one or other of them had been away or ill, they had not missed a Thursday for a long time.

The doorbell rang that Thursday about half an hour after she had departed. Teddy, who had been about to start fixing something for his dinner, went to the door and pulled it open.

It was her.

For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. For almost a year, that face had haunted his thoughts. She had not changed. Her hair had grown long again, and lay free around her shoulders, and she was simply but attractively dressed, in jeans and a loose spring jacket in soft blue. He was uncomfortably aware that his own jeans had holes in the knees, and he had not looked in a mirror that day, let alone shaved. His hair and features, he knew, had settled into looking drab and unflattering these days, and he had not had the energy or the inclination to think about changing them.

"Can I come in?" she asked, after they had stared at each other for a few moments, and he realised from her voice that she was angry. There was nothing he had done recently to have made her angry though, so he nodded, although his mouth had gone dry.

"Yeah. Sure."

He led the way into the living room, and turned to face her. There was that tenseness about her, that was always there when she was angry. The calm of a storm waiting to break.

"What's this?" she asked coldly, holding a piece of folded parchment towards him.

"I've no idea," he said honestly, "Look, Victoire, I don't have a clue why you're here, but maybe we should talk…"

"I _am_ talking. And don't play games, Teddy. You wrote to me…"

"Yes, because I thought maybe there were some things we should say…"

"I thought I'd made it pretty clear I didn't want to say _anything _to you."

"Okay. So why are you here then?"

"I'm _here_, because… because…" her voice shook slightly, "Because of this. Because after everything, you had the bloody nerve to send me this…"

He took the piece of parchment and looked at it, and his face went blank.

"I didn't send you this," he said, but she wasn't listening.

"Pushed under my fucking door, Teddy! I told you I didn't want to see you. I meant it. That didn't mean I wanted you to come round my house when I was out and put bloody letters under my door! I'd have thought you'd have got the message when I didn't answer the first one; I _don't want to hear from you_, Teddy…"

"I know. I didn't…"

"All that stuff," she gestured wildly at the parchment he still held, "Telling me you're _sorry_. 'I'm not asking for another chance, I just wanted you to know…'" she quoted the letter bitterly, "Then what was the point, Teddy? If you're not asking for another chance, what was the point? You said it all last year, and it was too late then. It's even later now.

You _cheated _on me, Teddy. Do you have any idea how I felt, last April? Do have _any_ idea how much you hurt me? How _long _it hurt for?"

"I've got some idea…" he began.

"I was starting to move on," she went on, regardless, "I was carrying on with my life. And then you do _this_. And suddenly I'm back where I was last year, and all the things I'd thought had stopped hurting… I know I screwed up too. I know some things were my fault as well. I'd stopped being angry, to be honest. I know I didn't treat you very well. I lost track of the important things in life, and… and drove them away. Drove _you_ away. But it wasn't me who slept with Zoë Lester. That's the bit we can never go back from…"

"Actually," he began, taking a breath, "There's something you should know…"

"I don't want to know anything," her voice was rising again, "I want this to be the end. I don't want any more bloody letters. You just about fucking broke my heart, Teddy Lupin, and the least you can do is take a step back and let me _try_ and get over it!"

Something in Teddy snapped.

"Victoire, will you let me get a fucking word in edgeways? First of all, I never expected you to take me back. I said that in the first letter, and I said it in this one too," he waved the parchment, "I have no idea how you got that, but I sure as hell didn't send it to you, unless I've started sending you letters in my sleep. Maybe I have.

But I don't expect second chances; you made it pretty clear that you don't even want to hear me out. I didn't sleep with Zoë Lester. I never cheated on you; not more than a drunk kiss anyway. Maybe that's enough. But there was nothing more… Merlin, Vic, you think I don't know how much I hurt you? I hurt myself just as much. D'you think there's been a single day since then that I haven't hated myself for it?

You said you lost track of the important things in life, and you did. But so did I. _You_ were the important thing. _We_ were the important thing. I love you, Victoire Weasley, and _that's_ the important thing, but I lost track of that, for one mad night… and I lost the most important thing of all…" he broke off and turned away, "Oh, what's the fucking point? You didn't come here to listen to me. You just said; you don't want to listen to anything I've got to say. Don't worry. There won't be any more letters, so if that's all…" he broke off again because there were tears stinging behind his eyes, and he didn't quite trust his voice.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, there was utter silence in the room. He could not look at her, but he was waiting to hear the door close behind her.

A hand touched his elbow.

"All right," her voice was small, but there was a note of defiance in it still, "There are obviously things I don't know that maybe I should. I was wrong; I shouldn't have said I wouldn't listen to you. You want to talk. So talk."

He stared at her. She was biting her lip, obviously struggling with herself, but for now, she was in control. The anger had gone from her eyes, and been replaced by something much more vulnerable.

"You're serious?" he asked.

The corner of her mouth twitched up for a moment.

"Yes, I'm serious. _I've _learnt a few things about what's important in the last few weeks too. Your letter taught me another one, and that's that maybe I can't live without you quite as well as I thought I could. I think that's why it made me so angry.

I haven't changed my mind. This isn't a second chance, and I still couldn't trust you enough to be with you again, even if I wanted to be, which I'm not sure I do.

But I'm listening, Teddy. So talk."

**The End**

* * *

**Well, I'm aware that that isn't the ending some of you were hoping for. In fact, it's a bit of a cliffhanger really, but it _is_ the end. This wasn't the sort of story that could end with a cheesy happy-ever-after and the tying up of all the loose ends. So you're going to have to make do with an ending that's hopeful at least.**

**If you really can't do without knowing if they actually got back together or not, you'll have to read Choices I'm afraid. Because I know the answer, but I'm not telling it here...**

**One last review, to tell me how much you hate me for leaving it like that?**

**Love Aebbe x**


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